


Conditions of Carriage

by kuill



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bittersweet, Callbacks to canon, Drama, Happy Ending, I promise it's a happy ending believe me, Lawyers, Legal Drama, Legal thriller, M/M, Multiple Realities, Pilots, Pining, Science Fiction, Sheith Big Bang 2017, Slow Burn, Teludav, Tragedy, Urban Fantasy, teleporter au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 15:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuill/pseuds/kuill
Summary: Every morning, Shiro spends 10 minutes travelling the 120 kilometers between work and home. Many say teleportation is still too under-researched and too unsafe, and if it were to be commercialised then it shouldn’t be by a multinational company like Teludav Inc. But Shiro doesn’t really have a choice, because he can't give up his dream job at a law firm in the heart of the city and well, the Teludav does make travel awfully convenient.Besides, his pilot is a beautiful, dark-haired young man, and the sight ofhimevery morning works wonders no coffee can.Although as a lawyer, Shiro really should’ve known better — using  newfangled equipment always comes with fine print attached. Especially when spacetime is involved.After a Teludav malfunction, Shiro will find himself forced to choose between doing the right thing and doing what feels right. And as his life falls apart he'll need to find out if he can take on the laws of court and physics, and whether or not he'll have to let Keith go when time itself runs dry.--A Sheith legal thriller in a sci-fi/urban fantasy setting. -- For the Sheith Big Bang.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I can't believe it's finally done. I've been wrestling with this fic for a good four months and it's been a wild ride. I've learned way more about law and physics than I need to know for several lifetimes. 
> 
> Second, thank you so much to Zen and Madison, my wonderful artists, for sticking by me at my lowest and putting up with my constant back-and-forths, delays, and general :V-ness. Please go appreciate their amazing art and show them some love!
> 
> Thank you also to the friends who've encouraged me throughout this process. Some of them are immortalised here and there in the fic, see if you can spot them :d. In particular, thanks to Noct, Kure, and Ebb, the three who have been encouraging me without end.
> 
>  
> 
> And you! I hope you enjoy this fic. I'm not a lawyer or physicist by any means so there are inaccuracies and forgive me please :'D. This fic is meant to be campy, written in the style of Boston Legal, one of my favorite series. I'll probably include some science + lawyer explanations at the end of the fic when I'm not dying. 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cover art](http://zenthisoror.tumblr.com/post/166182354476/kuills-sheith-big-bang-fic-conditions-of) by the talented Zenthisoror.  
> 

**CONDITIONS OF CARRIAGE**

By choosing “I agree” below you agree to Teludav Inc.’s Terms of Service.

You also agree to Teludav Inc.’s  Conditions of Carriage , of which a summation of key points are as follows:

1              As used in this contract "ticket" means this passenger ticket and baggage check, or this itinerary/receipt if applicable, in the case of an access pass, of which these conditions and the notices form part, "carriage" is equivalent to "transportation", "Carrier" means Teludav Inc. and the Teludavs that carry or undertake to carry the passenger or his baggage hereunder or perform any other service incidental to such carriage, "Intradimensional Rules" means the Convention for the Unification of Certain Rules Relating to Intradimensional Carriage by Transporter, signed at Singapore, 22 August 1990 (Singapore Convention); or that Convention for the Unification of Certain Rules Relating to Intradimensional Carriage by Transporter, signed at Singapore, 28 May 2004 (Singapore Convention), whichever may apply.

2              Carriage hereunder is subject to the rules and limitations relating to liability established by the Singapore Convention unless such carriage is not "International carriage" as defined by that Convention.

3              To the extent not in conflict with the foregoing carriage and other services performed by Carrier are subject to: (i) provisions contained in the ticket; (ii) applicable tariffs; (iii) Carrier's conditions of carriage and related regulations which are made part hereof (and are available on application at the offices of Carrier), except in transportation between places to which tariffs in force in those countries apply.

4              Carrier's name may be abbreviated in the ticket, the full name and its abbreviation being set forth in the Carrier's tariffs, conditions of carriage, regulation or timetables; Carrier's address shall be the airport of departure shown opposite the first abbreviation of Carrier's name in the ticket; carriage to be performed hereunder by several successive carriers is regarded as a single operation.

5              Any exclusion or limitation of liability in Carrier favor, or in favor of any other carrier on which you may travel, shall apply to and be for the benefit of our employees and will also apply to and be for the benefit of any person whose aircraft is used by Carrier or such other carrier for carriage and such person's agents, employees and representatives. Carrier shall be under no liability except as provided in its Conditions of Carriage, and furthermore not be liable for indirect or consequential damages.

6              Transported baggage will be delivered to the destination of commute, in case of damage to baggage moving in intra-dimensional transportation complaint must be made in writing to Carrier forthwith after discovery of damage and, at the latest, within seven (7) days from receipt; in case of delay, complaint must be made within twenty-one (21) days from date the baggage was delivered. If no complaint is made within the times aforesaid, no action shall lie against the Carrier. See tariffs or conditions of carriage regarding intra-dimensional transportation.

7              This ticket is good for carriage for one year from date of issue, except as otherwise provided in this ticket, in Carrier's tariffs, conditions of carriage, or related regulations. The fare for carriage hereunder is subject to change prior to commencement of carriage. Carrier may refuse transportation if the applicable fare has not been paid.

8              We undertake to use its best efforts to carry the passenger and baggage with reasonable dispatch. Times shown in timetables or elsewhere are not guaranteed and form no part of this contract. Carrier may without notice substitute alternate carrier in case of necessity. Schedules are subject to change with prior notice. Carrier assumes no responsibility for guaranteeing schedules or connections.

9              Passenger shall comply with Government travel requirements, present exit, entry and other required documents and arrive at airport by time fixed by Carrier or, if no time is fixed, early enough to complete departure procedures.

10            None of our employees or representatives, nor those of any other carrier on which you may travel, has the authority to alter, modify or waive any provision contained in this ticket, these Conditions of Carriage, or those of any other carrier on which you may travel.

CARRIER RESERVES THE RIGHT TO REFUSE CARRIAGE TO ANY PERSON WHO ACQUIRED A TICKET IN VIOLATION OF APPLICABLE LAW, CARRIER'S TARIFFS AND RULES AND REGULATION.

Issued by TELUDAV INCORPORATED.


	2. Chapter 2

_Teludav Inc. designs, manufactures, and operates teleporters across the globe. Founded in 2002, the company aims to revolutionise the scale and speed of transportation. With the safety and convenience of the human race at the heart of all pursuits, the company has gained worldwide recognition for pioneering the launch of Teludav Dragon FTS2, the first teleporter safe for human commute._

\- Teludav Inc., 2005.

 

-

 

Shiro didn’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the thousands of commutes through time and space, the raven-haired pilot with night skies for eyes had become the highlight of his day.

His callsign was RED 0623, but his name was _Kogane._ It only took a few commutes for Shiro to commit it to memory. Or rather, the shape of it had been seared into his mind — _Kogane,_ in lines of gold thread over a white name tag — because he hadn’t anywhere else to put his eyes whenever the pilot leaned close to check that the safety harness had been properly fixed before launch.

Like the many other pilots hired by Teludav Inc., Kogane had a permanent air of disinterest about him. Shiro’d never seen him in anything aside from a slouch or a frown, and Shiro had met enough people to know that the pilot loathed his job.

Those first few days Shiro couldn’t stop thinking about the Teludav’s ten minute journey, about that orange and cream uniform, about how the pilot looked like he yearned for something more. Everything about it just seemed so painfully ironic. The pilot had skill enough to be hired by one of the most prestigious spacetime research players in the field. Even if that meant nothing, come on, the pilot was one of the handful who could operate a Teludav. With such a machine he could vanish himself off the face of responsibility in exactly ten minutes.

Why was he here, when he didn’t love what he did? And why hadn’t he already left?

 

-

 

The year was 2019. Everyone knew Teludav Inc., the amazing company that transformed transportation for the better.

Still, Shiro’s first Teludav commute was _nothing_ like how it’d been advertised.

His pilot had neither a smile nor the enthusiasm of the pilots on screen, and instead had made his first appearance smothering a bored yawn. Never mind that the Teludav was just a lonely, rusted pill left carelessly in the middle of the remodelled Portsdown Subway platform. The Teludav commute absolutely would kill Shiro and the cause of it was a man who looked like he’d rather spend the day in eating pizza and watching reruns of _Friends._

Fantastic.

There wasn’t another Teludav commute in another half hour, and Shiro _needed_ to be punctual for his first day at Arus  & Lions. So Shiro just registered for his Teludav pass, entered the station, and waited for embarkation. All while desperately hoping that he wouldn’t be reduced to an infinite cloud of human dust by the foolish mistake of some under-trained pilot.

So yes, Shiro was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? The Teludav was new technology. While it had revolutionized travel across the globe, 10 minutes was all it took for the machine to swallow him whole and spit him out a considerable distance away. The idea still boggled his mind. It hadn’t been half a century since man conquered one of the few fundamental forces of energy: gravity. And now, Shiro was about to step into an invention that would transform the dimensions of space and time as every physicist knew it.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he barely noticed Kogane fastening the safety harness, or the lights dimming as they departed. All he could think about was how his Teludav would soon jump through space and time, and _he was there in it._ Where was he? What would he see, if he were to see anything at all? What lay beyond the double-reinforced walls of the Teludav? Was it something like deep space, where galaxies swirled? Or was it something more like _nothing,_ filled with colors that no human eye could see?

And if he was in there, what did that make him? Was he being taken apart and put back without his consciousness knowing? What about his pilot? What about —

“We’ve arrived at Tellus Central Station along Central District, thank you for choosing Teludav Inc. and have a nice day.”

Light spilled into the Teludav as the harness released him with an exhale of air. Slowly, Shiro unclamped his sweaty hands from the armrests.

The pilot, Kogane, was hesitating in the doorway visibly wondering if he should do something. When Shiro finally had the mind to look around, he realised the other passengers had already gone on their ways.

“I’m alright,” Shiro said too loudly, and jumped when the enclosed space of the Teludav hurled his voice back at him. Kogane gave him a bemused look but mercifully said nothing.

Hurrying out onto the too-bright platform of Central Station, Shiro spent a minute just taking in the sights and sounds of mundane human life. That didn’t _feel_ like 10 minutes. In fact now it felt like he’d been let down. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was… not whatever just happened. Just like _that,_ he was halfway across the state, not late, not dead, all organs intact. And it was as if he’d just fallen asleep in the Teludav and had been here all along.

An angry hiss. Shiro turned. One of the Teludavs was shuddering slightly, an orange indicator on the front showing that it was carrying passengers. People edged away from the heated steam billowing from under it, and Shiro felt his skin crawl.

Kogane was beside the shuddering Teludav in an instant, yelling something into his silver headpiece as he pulled at the pilot’s door. Shiro glanced over to the passenger door: it was sealed tight, with no visible mechanism to undo it from the outside.

With one last angry hammer of his fist against the machine’s sides, the pilot door slammed open and a pilot looking even younger and even more inexperienced spilled onto the platform. Kogane charged in urgently to take her place. She slumped against the metal capsule bonelessly and a second later ripped the headpiece from around her head like it burned.

Shiro wanted to go up to her, make sure she was breathing fine, that she wasn’t going into shock, but there was a sinking feeling that froze his legs and all he could do was watch —

The passenger door swung downwards and clanged against the concrete floor without resistance. Confused, dazed passengers emerged. And Kogane, gods, Kogane was everywhere at once, pulling them out with firm but gentle tugs while he said to one passenger and then the next, over and over, “You’re safe, it’s Central Station, you made it, you’re safe.”

Unable to watch any more, Shiro left. If Kogane knew what to do in events like these, he was definitely far more experienced than Shiro had initially thought. And he couldn’t help feel like he’d dodged a bullet without even knowing.

The way Kogane reacted, Shiro thought it a crisis of life and death. So Shiro expected the offending Teludav to be removed from operation, but when he returned the next day, there it was. And the next day, and the day after that. And even though he kept an eye on the news, nothing was said about it. The event was probably just due to a fault somewhere — the bitter part and parcel of any and all transport. It seemed serious back then, but then again all firsthand mishaps did. So it might’ve just been a common enough occurrence, and probably wasn’t all that dire in the bigger picture.

The more he thought about it the more the pilot’s concern and relief grew on him. So Kogane wore his heart alongside the Teludav patch on his sleeve. Here was a pilot who took his job _seriously,_ if anything, and cared about the people in his charge.

This wasn’t part of the Teludav experience Shiro’d imagined, but hey, Shiro could probably live with it.

 

-

 

 _Keith_ was the other half of the pilot’s name, which Shiro learned quite by chance. Other than the rare non-automated announcements, he’d never heard Kogane’s voice — _Keith’s_ voice — when it wasn’t overlaid with tinny intercom static. Even on days when he arrived at the station early and watched the pilots hanging around in the lounge, Keith Kogane rarely had a word to spare.

That changed during one of Shiro’s elusive lunch breaks not too long ago, when he passed a gang of pilots chattering like birds and glad to be freed from the endless hustle that was Central Station. He saw that mop of hair first, followed by a smirk that seized his chest, and as those lips moved a mellow voice came out and his colleagues cried, _Keith, holy shit!_ and _Wow, Keith, I cannot believe you said that,_ and one of them actually yelled, _Dude, Kogane, stop coming out of the left field with them sickass burns._

The lone syllable was innocent and sweet, swathed in laughter that followed the joke Shiro didn’t hear but still he felt like he’d been let in on Teludav Inc.’s biggest secret.

 _Keith Kogane._ It suited him.

When he returned to the office and passed Allura’s desk, she didn’t even look up from her laptop as she said, “For your midweek three-cans-of-Redbull slump, you look really lively. That pilot you’re always talking about finally smooch your chops?”

“What — Allura, come on! I have some standards!” With a coffee in each hand Shiro couldn’t jab his finger to make the best of points but he tried anyway, “And mind you, puppies can cheer me up just fine. This time it was a huge, fluffy, white samoyed named Kaltenecker.”

Allura smirked at him over the rim of her glasses. “Really now. Because this is the same shitty _I’m so whipped_ expression you carried around in high school after Kenny Robinson kissed you under the bleachers.”

“Back then I thought Kenny’s kiss was, you know… decent.”

“You cut your lips on his braces.”

 _“Alright,”_ acquiesced Shiro with a frustrated groan that carried no heat, “Maybe I overheard his name.”

Wow, going weak just by hearing the pilot’s name? He really _was_ whipped. Weakly, he set the coffee down on an empty spot on the desk. Allura helped herself to one and sipped, waiting expectantly.

“His name… Look, I can’t be sure, there were lots of pilots and they were talking all at once. Plus you know how noisy Central District can be during lunch—”

“The suspense is killing me,” she drawled.

“Keith. He’s, his name’s Keith Kogane.” The words felt warm and gorgeous and _fuuuck._

Allura tested the name under her breath. “And you didn’t get this _Keith Kogane’s_ number, I presume.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“And knowing you it’ll be months before you bring him to the observatory and ask him out formally, you being the old fashioned romantic you are—”

“Allura, I have case files that should’ve been compiled yesterday. So can we _please_ leave this subject matter for when I don’t need to be a productive human being.” He picked up his coffee and retreated with much haste, and he’d be damned if he said his face hadn’t burned long after he lowered himself behind his laptop and smacked his head on the desk.

He’d gone and done it this time, fallen head over heels for a man he’d see every day, when he’d never receive a second glance in reply.

 

-

 

On a bright and cheerful Tuesday morning at 08:00, Keith appeared for duty in a foul mood.

Shiro didn’t know Keith well by any means, but he was pretty good at reading people and Keith was one of those people who just said more with body language. Today Keith was not only speaking in volumes, he was _loud._ Even leaning against one of the station pillars the pilot was immeasurably uncomfortable, some part of him always moving as he glared at his PDA. He looked like he’d run a mile.

The device in his hands buzzed and Keith slapped it hurriedly to his ear. “Pat? Wait, stop, did you even see my query?” Shiro felt his throat clench; Keith’s voice was _ragged._ “I’ll explain everything back at Central… Fine then, let me talk to Brenner. Just, just let me — Pat, come on! I can’t pilot this thing today!”

Keith dug fingers in his hair. Their gazes met. Keith immediately jerked his head away in panic, and Shiro realised he shouldn’t have been staring. Instead he fiddled idly with his own phone as Keith continued to protest into his PDA, voice no longer carrying enough for Shiro to hear. But from what Shiro could _see,_ Keith wasn’t winning the verbal spar.

08:07. Keith jammed his PDA back into his pocket and unlatched the door, troubled eyes averted, stepping aside for it as it swung down. Oblivious, the passengers mulling around the platform slowly began to make their way in. Shiro lingered, trying to find the right words.

He settled for a neutral “Hey”, which made Keith jerk his head up. A split second of nervousness passed across his usually stoic features before it was beaten into a cold look that said, _oh it’s you._

Shiro cleared his throat. “Um, you alright? You sounded agitated.”

Keith shook his head, but Shiro saw his throat bob. “No, yeah no, I’m. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It sounded serious. Maybe you should take a break before the next shift.”

Keith seemed to retreat into himself and Shiro knew he’d lost him. Great. “It’s my problem to deal with,” said Keith with finality. He tapped his fist on the reinforced doorway. “You getting on?”

“Yeah. Sorry for listening in. It’s a bad habit, I’m kind of a busybody. My friends always tell me off for it.”

Keith only stared, and didn’t tell him off.

“Sorry again. And, um… good luck.”

With a sheepish smile Shiro ducked his head under the doorway and hurriedly folded himself into one of the too-small seats. This wasn’t how he wanted their first exchange to play out (it didn’t involve a Teludav-based pickup line, what are you talking about) but he’d never seen Keith look this stressed, not even after the incident of the smoking Teludav.

Even after all the seats had been filled Keith hung back near the door and Shiro caught him checking his PDA. The deft familiarity of his movements were clammed up with whatever was bothering him and Shiro had to resist the urge to murmur “Hey, easy” when Keith fumbled with the safety catch of his harness. It seemed like hours before their 08:12 departure time finally rolled around.

He could only bite his lip as Keith finished his rounds, sealed the door, and dimmed the lights for departure, his usually-bright eyes hidden from sight the whole time.

 

-

 

Shiro suspected something was wrong when the Teludav trembled.

In all his months of travel Keith’s Teludav had never so much as shook. The experience was usually quite like falling asleep in a subtly rocking room. But this was different. He found himself holding his breath. The capsule was still dimmed, the harness still in place, and there was no scent or sight with which to tell if their Teludav was sputtering on the outside.

He murmured breathlessly to the person beside him, “Did… did anyone feel that? I thought I felt a… Hey, did you feel that? Miss?”

No reply. Shiro turned to her, craning his neck to see if she was awake, but she wasn’t. Neither was the person on the other side. He could only see faint outlines of other passengers, like silent, sleeping shadows.

Maybe he was just overreacting… maybe they’d already arrived. So the teleporter must have already docked, and they were safely at Central Station while Keith figured out… whatever needed to be figured out.

Shiro tested the safety harness, but it didn’t give. Calm down, Shiro. No reason to panic yet. Some of the capsules were more well-used and… they just needed some encouragement. Yes, that had to be it. So he pushed at it again, and again, and then in a fit of something quite like desperation threw his weight against it, but nothing.

Swallowing down the knot in his throat only helped him realise how tight the fit of the harness was, how it strangled. Unconsciously, his grip tightened.

The machine refused to release him… so they were still stuck in transit?

_Lost?_

Unable to bear the heavy silence Shiro called out, “Hello?” The capsule remained as silent as a tomb. “Someone? I know I’m not alone in here.”

There was definitely something wrong now. Shiro fumbled for the safety lever with stiffening fingers but only grasped at nothing. He bucked against the seat, unsure if he imagined a breath of something down his neck.

“C-Come on guys, you’d better wake up, it’s not funny any more.”

His briefcase flew from his lap and crashed against the far wall as the machine gave a sudden lurch, like it’d been carelessly tossed aside. Shiro hung from his seat, arms aching, throat raw from a hoarse scream. In the corner of his vision he saw his suitcase ooze slowly up the wall with a trail of documents in its wake before finally slipping into a gaping maw that had opened wide below (above?) him.

In there were countless specks of white, like broken LEDs, like sparks frozen in time, a macabre collection of dead lullaby diamonds.

The harness was softening like malt, losing its strength and shape. All around, the darkness breathed and throbbed and swelled. Where was he? What was happening? Nothing made sense. _Nothing made sense._

He reached out for the only other thing that might —

“Keith!”

and the darkness coiled around him —

“Shiro!” A firm, warm hand on his cheek. “Shiro, look at me. You’re safe. You made it. It’s Central Station.”

The Teludav’s insides were bathed warmly in torchlight. His pilot was kneeling in front of him, uniform marred with soot. Shiro tried to speak, but only a sob came out. Keith’s gaze softened.

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get you out of here.”

Keith’s hand dipped to the side of the chair and the harness obediently released him. Keith didn’t complain when Shiro leaned his weight against him, too shaken to hold himself upright. They stumbled down the exit ramp together, out of the capsule, away from the twisting darkness of the Teludav.

Outside, the world waited — familiar and kind, and as warm as the pilot’s body supporting his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> [Concept art: Uniforms.](http://zenthisoror.tumblr.com/post/166182579286/conditions-of-carriage-early-concept-art) By the talented Zenthisoror.
> 
>   
>  Art by the amazing [Ada!](https://adascribbles.tumblr.com/post/166226296121/here-is-a-second-piece-that-i-did-for-the-sheith)
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Keith: Teludav Operator. By the amazing [Ada](https://adascribbles.tumblr.com/post/166226296121/here-is-a-second-piece-that-i-did-for-the-sheith).

“Sorry for putting you through that,” Keith was saying as Shiro fitted his hands around a mug of coffee, soaking up the heat to calm his rattled insides. They were in the coffee joint Shiro frequented religiously, sitting opposite each other in one of the booth seats.

“No, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have had to experience something so harrowing. I know, I’ve heard it, and maybe they’re right that it  _ is _ part and parcel of transportation, but even so I wanted to apologise.”

“Well, don’t.” Shiro said firmly and unlike before, Keith didn’t object. “I got out alive, in one piece, and not rearranged. That definitely checks all the boxes.”

Keith gave him a small thankful smile and it made something in Shiro’s heart bloom.

Almost as if Keith could read his mind, the pilot turned a warm shade of red and looked at his hands. Shiro was suddenly aware of how quiet the cafe was with the usual morning crowd nowhere in sight, the perfect chance for a secret shared, sweetened all the more by the blind trust that nobody else would hear it —

Keith cleared his throat. “Uh, I was just wondering.”

“Yes,” said Shiro immediately.

Keith scratched the back of his neck and struggled to find the right words. Finally he met Shiro’s gaze, almost squeamish with embarrassment, and mumbled, “I was wondering… if… you would have time to do this again.”

Shiro didn’t know how he reacted, but he must’ve sagged a little in his seat.

“If you mean  _ this,—” _ Shiro jabbed a thumb at the Teludav outside, “—maybe not, I think I’ll need a few years of pampering before I’ll be ready to set foot in that again. But if you mean  _ this,—” _ Shiro gestured at the space between them and found himself breaking into one of those shitty grins Allura told him about, god he’d been waiting for this since forever, “—then I would be glad to make time even if I don’t have it.”

Keith bit his lip but there was no mistaking a smile trying to break free. “Wait, but about the Teludav, I’ll explain. I’ll explain everything, I promise—”

“Forget the Teludav, you need to explain to me how to call you if I want to hear your voice.”

Shiro burst out laughing, relieved, elated, ready to burst out of his skin and then Keith couldn’t help get swept up in it too.

Keith shook his head and mock scowled, but he was already holding out his phone. “You’re such a sap.”

“I’ve been told, but just keep waiting. This isn’t me at my worst.”

As Shiro would be told repeatedly across the next few months, what happened to the Teludav was far too complicated for the layperson to understand. Never one to back down from a challenge, Keith tried tirelessly to explain it to him but some part of it always threw Shiro’s understanding off-kilter. Whether it was about knowing matter’s location and speed, or deciphering its fickle quantum state, the Teludav demanded a mastery of content just beyond Shiro’s reach.

“But don’t worry,” Keith always told him after every unsuccessful attempt, “Now that it happened to my Teludav we know exactly what happened.”

“So you knowing it immediately helps these internationally-acclaimed scientists do their job perfectly?” Shiro always shot back.

And Keith would smirk, “Shiro, Shiro, you might’ve Netflix-and-chilled too much in college but I promise,  _ I’ve _ got what it takes to reconstruct this thing with an abacus. Let me handle it.”

Sure enough the number of  _ incidents, _ as Teludav Inc. liked to call it (Shiro objected to the term but Keith guessed it wouldn’t stick around for long), dwindled quickly and was forgotten like just another nightmare. Everything went just as Keith had predicted.

Following this breakthrough, transporter stations sprung up in cities and countrysides all over the world, no longer occupying the run-down shells of abandoned transport routes or forgotten warehouses on the margin of bustling cities. Every city quickly clamored to house one. Teludav Inc. suddenly seemed to be fuelled by some new pride, and it showed. As business grew, so did the company’s prestige. To walk with the short half-cape billowing behind, to bear the glittering insignia on one sleeve, to walk with their heads held high and show off the silver pilots’ headband, it was a mark of the talented and the brave. 

Shiro was proud of Keith too, he’d been proud of Keith from the very beginning. But never in a million years would he have guessed he’d take issue with Keith’s booming popularity — not until strangers began asking Keith for selfies.

“Tonight’s supposed to be  _ our _ dinner. It’s  _ our _ special date. For  _ our _ anniversary. We talked about this last year,” grumbled Shiro, as Keith waved goodbye to his two fangirls with a huge grin on his face.

Keith raised an eyebrow and teased, “You’re just jealous because nobody’s asking for your autograph.”

Shiro was about to quip something back, but Keith reached across their candlelit lamb shanks and red wine to pat him playfully on the cheek. 

“Oh, baby, don’t sulk. Don’t let that ruin tonight. It’s  _ our _ night. I’m here for you, aren’t I?” 

Keith’s voice took on that honeyed purr it did when he was trying to soothe over Shiro’s bristling and damn Shiro seven ways to Sunday, it worked, it always worked. Mock arguments or real ones, Keith always seemed to win. Well, Shiro didn’t mind, not really. Keith was endearing, and Shiro was so weak for him. 

Shiro grumbled, “I’ll cook for you in future. The paparazzi can’t get us when we’re at home.”

“Guess I ought to pick up another fire extinguisher.” Keith forked a square of lamb into his mouth. His eyes flicked to Shiro’s. “Besides, no need to worry, I’m dating you.” 

Curse this shit-eating smile.

Their love was kind but also cruel. They hardly saw each other in between the groggy 04:15 am kisses when Keith left for his shift and the sleepy  _ welcome home _ kisses at 22:00 when Shiro came back to the apartment. 

“Have a good day,” Shiro would mumble as Keith slid out of bed with a yawn.

Keith would press a kiss into Shiro’s fringe and smile, “You too, darling.” and even though the kiss was morning breath, nothing tasted sweeter.

At night Shiro would wedge his cold toes between Keith’s calves to steal his body heat. To be honest he’d do it for Keith’s reaction alone. And sometimes, on the very  _ very _ good nights, Keith might decide on… retaliation, a cascading chain reaction that sparked one thing, then another, and another.

Those times Keith always paraded Shiro’s hickeys like jewellery, just for Shiro to see when he arrived at Portsdown station for the 8:12 Teludav. On days like those, when Shiro tried to loosen his stiff shoulders he could feel the sting where Keith had drawn red marks all down his back the night before.

Between Teludav rides and sly kisses during safety checks, so much of their lives — so much of  _ them _ — revolved around the Teludav, around Central Station. 

It was where they’d first met, after all, and it’d continue to shape so much of whatever was building between them. Central Station had already been an impressive building before, but now that it was the nexus of all Teludav Inc. operations it’d been renovated to include twenty floors of office space. The office-station complex even boasted a small hotel for passengers whose commute been delayed.

And there, atop the pinnacle of the magnificent glass building, was where Shiro burned his time away with Keith. There were perks to dating Teludav Inc.’s ace pilot, after all, like longer-than-usual breaks, and access to a master key. They would let themselves onto the rooftop where the winds tugged and pulled and snatched away their voices unless they passed it between each other’s lips. On clear nights they could see the city sprawl for miles, and when it was cold they would watch the glowing lights of city life twinkling through the smog while they stole heat from the shapes of each other. 

These were perhaps Shiro’s most cherished moments. When the rest of the world marched on with no need or want of them. When he had Keith all to himself, with the demands of the world rendered minute and insignificant. When Keith was backlit by the glow of city life twenty storeys away, dots glittering all around him like fractured jewels. When Keith entangled fingers with his and pressed kisses to the space above Shiro’s heart.

They spent their third anniversary right there, doing nothing except making patterns in the stars. 

Shiro spent the day after that nursing Keith back from a cold he’d developed from last night’s drizzle on the run home. Allura popped by with chicken macaroni soup and saw Keith at his worst: tissue stuffed up his nose and in a sour mood and his hair a wreck from spending the whole day in bed. Shiro left to get them tea and when he returned to a hastily-ended conversation he was sure his boss and soon-to-be-fiance were  _ both _ conspiring something against him.

Turns out both of them weren’t pleased about the hours Shiro was spending at Arus & Lions, so Allura had given him a whole week off and Keith somehow rallied his immune system to recover just before they were set to leave. 

The times had changed, and so had the Teludav. 

Once a page out of an engineer’s steampunk sketches, the Teludav now was a thing of beauty. All sleek curves and gilded accents, it gleamed and begged the awe of every passenger on any platform. The weather never left streaks of dirt on it, nor did the colored decal of TELUDAV INC. ever fade in the sun. Even without moving it denied the passage of time. 

They boarded. The pilot of this Teludav threw a well-practiced salute as they passed. 

“You could’ve just told me if you wanted to go on holiday together, you know.” Shiro gave Keith a meaningful look as they found their seats. 

“Don’t make me laugh.” Keith snorted, but reached out and folded his hand into Shiro’s anyway. “I already was half tempted to call up your main office and ask for Allura’s number. She so saved me the trouble.”

Shiro rolled his eyes. Keith squeezed his hand, and Shiro squeezed back. The lights dimmed, and Shiro felt a low pang of loss. It was one of those inexplicable, aching feelings that hit him in the chest and dropped his gut like a stone with the intensity of the longing for it all. How could he forget the feeling of wanting something he could never have? — How cruel were matters of the yearning heart.

All around, the indicators and humming buttons were multicolored stars right out of a machine’s sweetest dream.

He squeezed Keith’s hand tighter. “Can you believe it’s already been three years?”

“And nine days,” added Keith, flashing him one of those smiles that said he was really, truly happy.

“You… were counting?” 

“Of course. I’d be a fool not to.” Keith let out a short laugh, then fell silent. “Did I ever tell you why I wanted to pilot one of these Teludavs?” 

Shiro paused. He knew many things about Keith, like which college he went to and graduated valedictorian of his class; that whenever Keith could, he volunteered to train the other Teludav pilots for their maiden flights, and that Keith liked his tea sweet as sin and doused with milk enough for cereal. After seeing Keith spring back to life with the revival of Teludav Inc., he’d simply assumed that it was bad management that killed his passion. Hadn’t Keith always wanted to pilot one of those machines? If not for the sake of science then… simply for the honour and prestige of it?

When Shiro shook his head no, Keith went on, “I always dreamed of travelling the world with someone I loved.”

Shiro’s breath caught. 

Keith went on quietly, slightly self-consciously, “Imagine that. Young me, full of wanderlust, aching to go everywhere I couldn’t. And what did I do? Worked a job ferrying people to and fro, but got myself chained to the Teludav because there was nobody else piloting it otherwise. I thought to myself, this is it, this is the peak of my life — an endless game of fetch.” 

The tips of his ears were grew red.

“And yet… here I am. With you. And a VIP pass to anywhere we want to go.” Keith huffed out a sheepish laugh and dipped his head.  “I wanted to thank you for sticking with me all this while.”

“Well, don’t,” said Shiro with a grin. “Every moment with you was like a dream come true for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could’ve gone travelling, I could take a break from work.”

“Really, Shiro?  _ You _ would?” Keith snickered, but there was no mistaking the hope that had surfaced in his expression.

“If it makes you happy, I will. For you, everything’s worth it.”

Keith choked back a sound, then coughed, then burst out laughing. The sweet sound filled the inside of the Teludav so it was the only thing Shiro could register. Addictive as it was, Shiro had cracked Keith up enough to recognise that this laugh was different from all the others.

There were tears of gratitude in Keith’s eyes. 

“Shiro…” he lifted Shiro’s hand and pressed a kiss over the knuckles, gazing at Shiro contentedly from under his dark lashes. The emotion in his whisper made the hair on Shiro’s skin stand on end. 

No more needed to be said as the pilot announced their stop. The lights came back on and the door lowered gently to the ground. The warm light spilled like unfrozen amber, leaking into the world of darkness beyond. 

They were the only passengers in this silent, opaque world. For some reason, none of the streetlamps were working. It looked familiar, as though if Shiro squinted he could make out the outlines of houses, silhouettes of fences or cars stacked in front of each other to form a pretty landscape if only he could  _ see. _ Colors he couldn’t name flickered at the edge of his vision. 

Shiro let Keith tug him out. “Where… where are we?”

“Shh.” Keith pressed a finger to Shiro’s lips. “It’s a surprise.”

They walked for miles, or it might’ve only been minutes. Shadows arranged themselves into stairs, and Shiro climbed. Keith pulled him along, every so often casting an eager grin over his shoulder, visibly excited. Keith’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Shiro always grinned back. 

Finally, they came to the top of the landing. In Shiro’s old shirt and sweater and with a reddened kiss under his jaw, Keith was the only splotch of color in pitch darkness.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.” 

“It’s already dark,” Shiro whispered, gripping more tightly to Keith’s hand. “Do I have to?”

“Trust me.” Keith took his place beside him and turned his face into a wind Shiro couldn’t feel. “It’ll be amazing.” 

Thoughts whirring but not forming any coherent objection, Shiro could only sigh, say “Only for you, baby.” and let his eyes slide shut. 

Faintly, he felt something tremble. The sensation was vaguely familiar, like he’d felt it a whole other world ago. 

“Alright, open your eyes, Shiro.” 

Shiro did.

There was no way to describe it. He’d seen Keith framed by the man-made stars of city lights and street lamps before, but now Keith was lit from all around by galaxies that swirled and planets that danced. All around, colors fell like pixel rain, comets with streaks of unimaginable hues. It was as if Keith had dropped them into an artist’s magnum opus.

Keith’s eyes glittered like stars all of their own. He spread his arms and spun, taking in the iridescent hues. Shiro couldn’t bite back a smile. “So?” he came to a stop right in front of Shiro, chest rising and falling breathlessly with the thrill of it, “What do you think?” 

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” gasped Shiro. He reached out to grab Keith’s hand, but he’d misjudged the distance and Keith remained just out of reach, ephemeral, oblivious. “Now out with it, baby. I’m dying to know, where are we?”

“That’s not important. What’s more important is this.” Keith dropped his hand to his pocket, and Shiro immediately grinned. 

He knew what was in there. He’d seen the box while he was folding and packing away Keith’s socks. An elementary mistake. Shiro had kept his own gift tightly wrapped in ziploc, at the bottom of a tupperware of oatmeal, because Keith would rather eat sandpaper than go near that. So his plan was foolproof, and even with it nestled against his thigh Shiro knew there was no way Keith could’ve found out about the ring.

“I have something to give you, too.”

Keith blinked in surprise, then pretended to sulk. “Well, I asked first, so I get to give mine first.” 

“Fine,” Shiro huffed, and waited for instruction. 

Despite himself Keith’s smile leaked into his voice. “Close your eyes again for me, baby.”

And Shiro did. 

 

-

 

 

“Shirogane? Shirogane Takashi. Open your eyes!” 

Keith was kneeling in front of him, stressed and upset. His silver headband hung around his neck. His face was covered in a sheen of perspiration. 

“Oh, thank god.”

“Baby? What’s going on?” 

Keith jerked back.

They were in a small, cramped capsule, lit by the pale fluorescence of Central Station. 

“You’re at Central Station. It’s time to go,” Keith found his voice to say. He hurriedly released the safety harness and before Shiro could say a word more, escaped outside the Teludav. 

Keith had shoved his suitcase on his lap, and Shiro realised it’d burst open when it fell. His documents were a mess.  _ Shirogane Takashi, Attorney, Arus & Lions _ was stamped prominently on the letterhead. 

Shiro got shakily to his feet. His limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to him. In fact, nothing did. He blinked at his surroundings, struggling to place himself. All around, pilots were rousing other dozing passengers, coaxing them to stand. 

_ Central Station? _

Outside, Keith refused to meet his eyes. 

There were a million questions racing through Shiro’s mind, but he only had enough breath to ask, “What happened?”

“Whatever happened in there, I’m sorry,” Keith snapped without looking up, voice so taut with frustration that Shiro took a step back. “I… I tried.” 

_ It’s not your fault, _ was Shiro’s first instinct to say, but there was something so stifling at the back of his throat that nothing came out. 

“In there…” 

Keith folded his arms, shrinking into himself. “It’s a simulation. By the Teludav. The Teludav does that.”

“Why?” 

“If it breaks, it runs a simulation. You signed a form when you first boarded.” 

A form? It’d been years ago — no, not years. Shiro glanced at the huge clock in the middle of the circular platform, and it read  _ Jul 01 2019, 08:25. _ The year was 2019. He’d only just started his stint at Arus & Lions, back then. No. To him it’d been far more than that. For hell’s sake, he was supposed to propose to Keith and they’d taken that away from him. 

No, no. The forms. Shiro beat back the rising tide of panic and focused. That’s right. Shiro vaguely remembered an intimidating stack of paper which he’d signed without perusing too deeply, because he was nervous about his first day on the job and hadn’t thought much of it. He didn’t even remember reading more than the first few lines.

“If you have a problem with the paperwork, you can speak to my supervisor.” Keith said, voice taking on the monotone quality it did when he was reciting from memory.

Finally realising he was in Keith’s way, Shiro stepped aside to make room. Headless of the thick clouds of steam Keith kneeled to inspect one of the lower panels, a signal that the conversation was already over. 

The machine that hissed and spluttered had once again resurfaced from Shiro’s past. 

_ A simulation.  _

Shiro hadn’t gone  _ anywhere _ except into the recesses of a computer’s cold, automated mind. 

And his Keith — that smirk, those playful glances, those gentle touches — 

the Keith he loved, and who’d loved him back, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> [Magnum opus.](http://zenthisoror.tumblr.com/post/166182993051/alright-open-your-eyes-shiro-shiro-did-from) By the amazing Zenthisoror.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, _god,_ what happened to you?”

Ignoring Allura, Shiro set his briefcase down and set to work immediately. He forced himself to become reacquainted with the arrangement of his desk. It’d been actual years for him. His desk was perfectly familiar, yet eerily foreign, like someone had replaced all his things with copies. Plus the Arus & Lions of his dreams had been renovated several times to accommodate Keith—…. Shiro swore. He should’ve known. Their personal workspaces were crammed so full of cabinets and files that an extra desk would never fit, no matter what they did to the walls. There were _signs,_ why hadn’t he noticed the signs?

“Shiro?”

None of his files were where he wanted them. The bookshelves in his most recent memories were fading rapidly in the light and the actual, solid, real words all around him. _Redefining Open Skies: A critical commentary. Liability and Loss: A history of tort law. Challenging capitalism._ It was impossible to remember what book he’d been looking for.

In fact, what _was_ he looking for? What _did_ he want? What could he do?

“Allura. I need Teludav Inc.’s conditions of carriage. You kept a copy, didn’t you, I need it.”

“Conditions of carriage? I believe so, yes. Well, I need to dig around for it but — Shiro, _Shiro._ Stop. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“You don’t come into my office looking like hell crusted over and expect me to believe a bad lie when we’ve been friends for fifteen years. Now sit. And breathe. I’ll get tea for us.”

Shiro’s eyes landed on the planner on the desk and he lunged for it, flipping it open to 1st July. “Shit, Allura, I don’t even remember what’s due today—”

The book was plucked from his hands. Allura folded it under her arm and glared. Shiro realised how hard his heart was pounding, how dry his mouth had gone, how high-strung he felt.

“My best litigator is distraught, close to the brink of tears, and too incoherent to understand. Whatever’s due today can wait.”

His best friend reached over and squeezed his arm, but her touch was so warm and far too real that Shiro nearly flinched. He wasn’t sure if she noticed.

He allowed himself to be steered to the lounge and pushed down into a beanbag soaking in the morning sunlight. A pillow smooshed against his face and he grunted at it, before realising a few seconds too late that Allura was testing his reflexes.

Guiltily, he tried a sheepish smile, even though he knew it’d come out frayed. _Alright, you got me, I’m a wreck._

Allura sighed but said nothing as she busied herself with cups and the kettle. Shiro closed his eyes and clenched his fingers around the soft styrofoam beads in the purple beanbag.

He still wasn’t sure if he was really awake. There was no way to tell. Maybe in an hour he’d find himself in yet another Teludav, or to become horribly self-aware that he was just a pink brain floating in a vat full of water.

For now he focused on the regular beating of his heart, the faint _tk tk tk_ of seconds marching round the clock, the kettle slowly bubbling to life. Even though mundane, these discrete sounds soothed him. Back in the Teludav, all his senses had bled into each other. Most of it had been a muddle of subconscious impressions.

Time kept pace like it was meant to, and Shiro felt the stress and exhaustion creep up on him suddenly. He’d missed marching to time’s oblivious tempo. He was content to be overlooked. Being the ragdoll for the forces of entire dimensions was tiring business after all, and he wasn’t cut out for it.

Shiro kept his eyes closed and slept fitfully, and did not dream.

 

-

 

He blinked awake with a blanket draped over him, everything silent save for muffled wisps of conversation. Allura must be entertaining new clients in the conference room.

Evidently, life went on. The pantry was glowing sunset orange. His favorite mug, a heavy white one that read _LAW: Longsuffering Agonized Work,_ sat on the low coffee table filled with cold strawberry mango tea. Allura’s preferred brand. The other beanbag had a frayed zipper, and one corner of the carpet was peeling back. Everything was painfully ordinary, blissfully oblivious. Just lying there he could hardly believe what he’d been put through.

Now that his initial distress had been blunted by the nap and he could think clearly again, Shiro decided it was time to put the pieces together.

It felt like he’d travelled through time — then again, he’d been doing that for the past few months. Toying with spacetime — one moment it was 2022 (he remembered faintly counting down the new decade as they watched fireworks through the window of Keith’s apartment, though now he couldn’t even begin to recall what color the walls were), and now he was back where it all began: the Teludav Incident of 2019 that kickstarted the revolution to more foolproof technology.

Except there wasn’t going to be said revolution, because his lived timeline and his current timeline had already diverged. For one, the _real_ Keith had reacted with badly concealed panic and guilt, nothing like the apologetic pilot cooked up by the Teludav.

The experience hurt, but Shiro was going to make sure life went on. After all he still had his dream job working here at Arus & Lions, and he was alive, and thankful that there was little muddled beyond the dream.

So what, then? Shiro had a couple of options. He could pretend all this never happened, suck it up like a kicked dog and sweep his bruised pride under a nice, thick rug woven up of countless hours of therapy. This appealed to him because, well, his memory was already getting scrambled. He didn’t want to be lumped along with sufferers of amnesia and coddled for something nobody, not even himself, could determine the root cause of.

The other option, which was more brutal, was to take his case up against Teludav Inc. But Shiro was a lawyer, and so he knew the odds were stacked against him. Desperate, vengeful amnesiacs always lost points with judges and juries. And if Keith was right, then it was _Shiro’s_ own signature on the dotted line of the conditions of carriage, and so it was his own fault he’d overlooked the costs and risks.

What was even on the form he’d signed, back then? He probably ought to check before he made his next move.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. You're awake.”

Allura strode past, dumping several mugs in the sink. Shiro sat up and began folding the blanket as she set another kettle on.

“Wish I didn’t have to be.”

“If wishes were fishes we could be making dosh running an aquarium, but I’m afraid we’re both lawyers. Can you swim?”

“Barely, if I hold my breath and channel my inner driftwood.”

“Good. Because we’ll be drowning in documents soon.” Allura tilted her head at Shiro’s cup. “Want another cup of tea?”

“No thanks. You look busy, I presume you’re evaluating a case. Glad we finally got a bite. Have time for a rundown?”

“I was so convinced we’d gotten sidelined with all the new firms springing up. But hey, good news! I’ve already taken the case. Long story short, we have a stint with Big Transit.”

Shiro felt his brows furrow. Allura, sensitive as always, shifted uneasily.

“Big Transit, huh,” he said carefully, “And what would that entail? I might still be out of it, but I don’t imagine you mean aviation or rail.”

“No, Shiro. For this case, we’re defense lawyers for Teludav Inc.”

 

-

 

After changing into another suit and practicing various smiles in the mirror to make sure there was sufficient life in his expression, Shiro entered the conference room. At once, three broad-shouldered men with cold eyes and plastic smiles stood to meet him.

Allura greeted him cheerily, though it was clear she felt more than outclassed.

“Gentlemen, my partner in crime. Shiro, representatives of Teludav Inc.”

One of them extended a hand for Shiro to shake. It took all of Shiro’s discipline not to gasp at how cold it felt, as though it was an odd, semi-human bionic.

“Finally, _the_ Shirogane Takashi. I’ve always wanted to meet the lawyer who took on Arena and lived to tell the tale.”

“What can I say, they were abusing their employees. If I know anything about Earth, it’s that we don’t stand for bloodthirsty gladiator rings parading under the guise of circus.”

“You amuse me,” the man drawled. “You know, in our circle some call you Champion.”

 _Our_ circle. Allura bristled slightly. Shiro gave the man a sanguine smile. “Well, Champion or not, guess I work for you now, Mister…?”

“You can call me Sendak. This is Prorok, and this is Haxus.” Each tilted their head slightly when they were called.

“Sendak, Prorok, Haxus. A pleasure.”

The tension was stifling. Shiro gestured for them to sit, then settled on Allura’s left. She slid him the case brief. It was already annotated with her neat cursive. “We were just talking about how they came to us. After all we’re pretty far out of the radar of _those_ circles.”

Haxus leaned forward. Shiro’s eyes were drawn to the odd streaks of white in his otherwise jet black hair. “You know the joke, a Teludav makes a small world smaller.” (Was Shiro supposed to laugh? He opted not to.) “Turns out you were recommended to us by one of our pilots.”

Allura brushed a finger over the name _Keith Kogane_ written at the top right of the page.

Shiro didn’t know how to react. Oblivious, the attorney continued, “We don’t visit just about _any_ lawyer our pilots ask for, but when we did a little digging we found that you were working for Arus  & Lions.”

“Naturally,” added Sendak, “we jumped at the idea of hiring a firm set up by the great barrister Alfor.” He inclined his head and actually sounded remorseful when he murmured, “I am truly sorry for your loss. Alfor was an inspiring figure in court and I loved watching him in action.”

“That makes the two of us, Mr. Sendak.” Allura chuckled and waved a hand. Turning to Shiro, she teased, “These three were very insistent, but with good reason. Now, we should resume talking about the case.”

“Please,” said Prorok, sounding pained. He’d been scratching at his sideburns to keep his hands busy.

Shiro hurriedly glanced through the brief. He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t relate to the case. The plaintiff was one Shay Balmera, whose family had ridden the exact same Teludav as him earlier today. Each of them reported having their memories altered, although how and to what extent was still unknown. They were suing for willful neglect (something Shiro would’ve done) and sought to claim damages for emotional and psychological damages (also something Shiro would’ve done).

Frowning, Shiro glanced up at Sendak, but the lawyer was too busy discussing their options with Allura to notice.

Shiro cleared his throat to get their attention. “Has anyone spoken to Ms. Balmera?”

The three attorneys shared glances. “No,” said Haxus with mild surprise. “This should be a simple case, and typically we’re able to settle out of court. We’ve usually had success in getting judges to dismiss.”

“Usually?” Shiro raised an eyebrow. “What about the unusual cases?”

Haxus said, “Not your jurisdiction. Let’s just focus on the case at hand.”

“As _reps_ of Teludav Inc. you lot are awfully well versed in our line of work—” Shiro grunted as Allura stepped on his toe.

“Anyway,” said Allura, pointedly not looking at him, “We’ll do our best, but we have to warn you there’ll always be a chance we’ll end up in court. Judges have become tired of dismissing the same old Teludav cases and there might be one who just gives in out of curiosity. And if a jury hears Shay testify, we’ll lose immediately.”

Those words hung like a warning between them. Good, thought Shiro. The risks were high; if things went to court they might blow up. Juries were loose cannons, but more often than not easily-manipulated ones. And they were particularly unsympathetic to multinational companies.

In the silence, Sendak finished his cup of tea and smacked his lips wolfishly. “I imagine that Arus & Lions, given its history in Alfor’s illustrious footsteps, will see that such a circumstance shall not come to pass.”

“Of course not,” said Allura immediately.

Shiro couldn’t believe what he was hearing. One more horrified glance at her before he was gripping the table and saying, louder than he expected, “This isn’t just _any_ odd case at hand. Shay’s a person too. She ought to be rightfully compensated, not have her trauma invalidated—”

“You seem to be taking this rather personally, Mr. Shirogane.” Sendak turned and fixed him with eyes so light they almost looked gold. That gaze was predatory.

Allura was staring at him as though she didn’t recognise him. Of course she didn’t. He’d aged three years, and all because of the Teludav. Of course he’d take it personally. It wasn’t his fault it felt like he’d been roped into demeaning his own experiences. He _was_ taking it personally because it felt like he’d been duped from the start.

But that didn’t make it the right thing to do.

“I apologise,” he said after a long while. The words burned as they left his tongue. “It’s been a long day.”

“We understand,” said Prorok blithely. A man of few but scathing words. Shiro clenched his jaw so hard his head hurt.

“Thank you,” said Shiro with a shapeless smile, “But before you go, we should outline what to expect should we end up in court. Call me a pessimist, but I have a gut feeling we might need to be prepared for that.”

 

-

 

Once the three left Allura rounded on him, livid. “What was that?”

“What was that yourself!” Shiro shot back, “You let yourself be manipulated!”

Angrily, she stormed away from him and into the lounge. Shiro followed. “I have to keep up with my father’s vision for this firm. He practically gave up his life for it. I expected you to understand.”

Shiro’s gaze hardened. “His passing hurt me too. He was kinda like my dad too. But that doesn’t mean—”

“And it was hard enough dealing with the case by myself and being weighed down by my father’s legacy, I had to clean up your sorry act!” She flopped onto a wicker chair and folded her arms. “Explain.”

Now that the attention was on him Shiro felt the rage leave him in a rush. He stared at the remaining two wicker chairs. “Doesn’t matter.” He turned to leave. “It’s done. You took the case.”

“Shiro.”

The word was a command. If Shiro met this formidable young lady in another life he was certain she’d be a princess, or commander to a great army. And you don’t just shrug off someone like that. He slowed to a halt, throat going dry once more.

“Look, Shiro,” Allura said, voice painfully gentle, “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked up on you sooner. I wanted to. You were a disaster, and well you’re usually a disaster, but this time I say it without my usual fondness because I’m _really_ concerned. You’re my colleague, but you’re also my friend. Please don’t shut me out.”

Shiro grumbled, “You’re guilt-tripping me again.”

“With good reason.” Allura tapped the chair opposite her with her toe. “Can we talk? About you?”

Shiro sighed, then picked up his stale tea and sat. “It’s a long story.”

“Give me the short of it then.”

“Shay,” he began, and Allura’s expression immediately turned grave. “Shay and I… it’s coincidence, but we were both on the same Teludav. The one that malfunctioned.”

Allura turned pale, one hand going to her mouth.

“What are the odds, right? I didn’t even notice her family boarding. But it’s the same date and time.”

“You mean…?”

“All her accusations about emotional and psychological damages? It all happened to me, too.” He took a deep breath to steady himself and ran fingers through his fringe. “It’s like you’ve been going along living your life and then you’re ripped from everything you knew. And then the people in charge talk about it like it was all just in your mind.”

“Oh, _Shiro._ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When I’m stressed my body has a defense mechanism, you see, which is called _going comatose._ Like death, just sans long-term commitment.”

Allura didn’t even bat an eyelid at that, though she was looking guiltier and guiltier by the second. “And _that’s_ why you were so against the case.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Shiro. God, he’d been saying that an awful lot lately. “You didn’t know, and I passed out like an irresponsible loser, and so happened those bastards—”

Something clicked.

“Those bastards…?” prompted Allura.

“They knew,” said Shiro abruptly.

He dug his transport pass from his pocket. It was a little plastic square with matte oranges and sleek blacks. He and Allura each owned one. If you travelled often enough by Teludav, it was simply cheaper if you bought a year-long pass.

Every pass was unique to the owner, however. He’d had to register for it using his identity card.

Shiro stood up angrily. “Why else would they come to us? You said it yourself, we’re a small firm outside the usual lawerly circles for transport law. Sure Alfor was a famous lawyer, but he dealt mainly in familial suits. He’d never taken a transit case. So why him?”

“For the namesake,” Allura ventured crossly, “Shiro, calm down.”

“Not just that, and no, I can’t. Let me be mad.” Shiro flung the card onto the table and growled, “They knew who I was. They knew I’d taken down big firms before. So they knew I’d go for them too, if I could. Allura, they pressured you into taking the case to stop me, before I could rally you to strike against _them.”_

A strangled silence descended in the room. Shiro gently let himself lie down on the floor, one arm over his eyes.

“So I _was_ manipulated,” murmured Allura.

“I can’t rule out that possibility. Look, I know you’re always loyal to family and I really don’t blame you.”

“And you’re muzzled now, because of my dumb mistake.”

“Road to hell is paved with only the best intentions, Allura.”

He sat up and gave her knee a firm squeeze, earning himself a watery smile in reply. Shiro continued, as lightly as he could, “Hey, I know how you can compensate me, though. Let me stay over at your place tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

Allura brightened immediately, even despite herself. “Sleepovers? I love sleepovers! It’ll save you the four hour train ride home, too.”

The lady could be a princess, but she was still a child at heart. Times like this Shiro really felt like he needed to protect her fiercely lest her innocence be marred. His smile was genuine.

“You’re awfully excited about this.”

“I get to hear your long story,” smirked Allura.

He could tell she was trying to be brave for him. That was the thing about the both of them, they were both martyrs in their own damn right. And look where that got them. In a huge pot of trouble.

It was easy to just close himself off to her but he at least owed her this much.

“Only if you let me pay for the beers. I’ll need plenty to get me through.”

 

-

 

From what Shiro could remember they spent most of the night in Allura’s cozy apartment just talking. He was reminded why he was drawn to Allura when he first met her in class all those years ago. Nothing seemed to faze her. Shiro now knew that wasn’t entirely true; that Allura had a mind of steel and keener than a blade, that she drew strict lines and expected great things from herself. No matter what she stayed true to what she believed in, especially if she believed in you.

And that was why Shiro could pour his heart out to her in the dead of night, even though it felt like the rest of humanity had turned a deaf ear. Amidst the empty bottles and the shattered pieces of his sweetest hallucinations Shiro told her everything, about the Teludav and the honeyed days with Keith — _his_ Keith. No way could she have known how it felt but she was so genuine, so empathetic that Shiro almost believed he wasn’t the only one to have his memories blended up by almost-alien technology.

So he talked, and he drank, and tried not to get drunk but got wasted anyway. Later while he folded himself over the can to die several unsatisfying and rancid deaths, Allura was there (an arm’s distance away) giving him sympathetic pats on the back. Things were a blur after that, Allura calling him a sentimental romantic and Shiro saying something unprofound about fowl and feathers before passing out in a useless heap.

Eventually they needed go back to work. Even though Allura let him sleep in, the extra hour of shuteye didn’t ease his hangover since he was too wasted to remember drinking some water _(it’s your own damn fault, Shiro, I tried to make you and you threw a tantrum)._ He’d just have to deal. So he put on the same rumpled clothes from yesterday, thanked himself for leaving deodorant in the office, and then thanked Allura for airing his blazer while he’d been passed out.

They walked in silence, mostly because Allura had stayed up to polish up and submit their response to Balmera’s summons and she was equally, if not more tired, than Shiro was. Shiro kept silent, focusing on every printed storefront, the font of every advertisement, waiting for the slightest of shivers.

But nothing. In fact only one thing was out of the ordinary: Outside their office, perched restlessly on one of the wicker chairs, was a young man with black messy hair and a gaze that harbored demons.

There, waiting for him, was Keith.

Heavy army boots, jeans, thin V-neck, half-jacket. Without the crisp Teludav uniform, Shiro realised how much Keith looked like a boy forced to grow up too fast too soon. Keith perked up on seeing Shiro, clearly wanting to talk. It was all Shiro could do to keep his expression neutral. Just the very sight of Keith was ripping up his insides. And though talking to Keith was the last thing Shiro wanted to do, there was no way to escape or turn Keith away.

Allura gave his arm a comforting squeeze, intercepting Keith before he could say a word. “Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting, we had our hands tied until just. Kogane, right?”

Visibly, the pilot had to force himself not to shy away. He shook her hand with a weak smile. “Yes… hello.”

 _So vulnerable._ Shiro’s throat tightened.

“I came here because I had something to say,” said Keith as he turned to Shiro, head lowered like a child. Shiro desperately crammed all his emotions into a tiny box, kicked it off a metaphorical cliff, and jerked himself into motion. He had duties to do. He could face his ugly emotions later when he could afford the time to.

“Hey there. That’s Allura —” his friend gave a kind smile and a wave, and Keith nodded nervously, “And I’m Shiro, though you probably already know that. Come in, let’s talk inside.”

 

-

 

“We really should get those wicker chairs replaced,” mulled Allura to lighten the mood, as she led them to the den. “The stray cats get in and scratch them up.”

Keith’s trousers were covered in fine cat hair, though he seemed too preoccupied with his thoughts to care.

Shiro hung back on the threshold of the doorway to watch Keith struggle to pick a seat. Finally he settled on Shiro’s favorite purple beanbag, curling his legs under him as if to make himself as small as possible.

“Tea? Coffee?”

Keith shook his head uncomfortably.

 _Juice,_ mouthed Shiro from the door. He’d seen Keith with a huge bottle of it once, in a time he was certain was not a dream. Cranberry. It was too sour for Shiro’s liking. But the scent hung faintly in the Teludav for the entire trip.

Sure enough, Keith accepted Allura’s offer for apple juice (not without some hesitation, as if he was intruding). After the two lawyers were properly caffeinated, they settled down and Keith recited,

“Thank you so much for agreeing. To take on the case. It was in short notice, and you didn’t need to take it, but you did. It means a lot to me and my colleagues.” He looked at them each in the eye. He’d probably rehearsed the speech a hundred times.

Allura smiled, leaned over and patted Keith’s beanbag reassuringly. Keith did not glean any reassurance from the gesture. “It was a pleasure. After we learned about what happened, we couldn’t say no. You’re the pilot, right? For the Teludav?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s fingers tightened around his cup. “Do you need a statement or something? I’ll give it to you.”

“Not yet, but eventually, yes. We’ll need to know what exactly happened in there, so we can make sure it wasn’t your fault. You came all the way here to tell us that?”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah. You’re close to Central City. And anyway, they suspended me, so I have nothing to do.”

Shiro and Allura shared a glance. Suspending a pilot wasn’t out of line. Many other transport companies opted for that course of action, particularly in the midst of investigations. Allowing someone to continue duty despite being ‘at risk’ simply wasn’t wise.

“What were you told?” asked Allura.

“That my license would be revoked until this…” Keith gestured. “Blows over. I don’t know when they’re going to give it back.”

“I presume this is your only form of employment? Are you supporting anyone right now?”

“This is my only job, yeah. I live alone. It’s not a very good salary, but it fits the bills and pays for food, so I’m not complaining. When I go back though, I’ll have to sit through the training course all over again.” Keith made a grumpy noise of exasperation. “Even though I’ve been pilot since the first launch event.”

“Because you were suspended, huh. Do you receive any other penalties besides that?”

He hesitated a long while. Finally, stiffly, he went on, “If there are any, I don’t know about it.”

Keith paused, glared at his juice, then drained it at one go. When he lowered his cup something seemed to have settled inside him.

“Do you know what the other lawyers are going to say? Against you guys. For the case.”

“We have some idea,” said Allura slowly.

“They’re going to make it about the risks. They’ll just say something dumb, like how Teludavs are strange mysterious crystal structures that refuse to listen to humans.”

“Really? And it works? The PR team for Teludav Inc. works round the clock. They spend so much on their public image and reputation.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Well, they try. But it’s probably pointless, because everyone and their mom thinks that way. On the streets, people take one look at anyone in the uniform and they go, ‘It’s one of _those_ pilots’, like _we’re_ the black sheep.”

“But they still ride the Teludav,” said Allura.

Shiro shook his head. “The trains are dismal and there are probably only two bus companies servicing the whole precinct. I figure I’ll have to move to the city too, if the proceedings starts ramping up for real.”

“With _this_ rent?”

“Either way, there are plenty of others who still _need_ the Teludav, because they don’t have the luxury of moving like I do,” Shiro said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t even started taking public transport yet, but he could already feel the strange, bone-dead tiredness that came from sitting in a moving vehicle for hours at a go.

“I’m sorry,” said Keith.

The apology grated. Shiro glanced at him, then waved a hand. “Let’s not talk about that. Tell me what you meant about understanding a Teludav.”

Keith hesitated, knowing he’d just avoided a huge bombshell, but took the opening he’d been given. “Understanding a Teludav’s kinda like understanding a wild animal. Sometimes it doesn’t go where you want it to. It’s… hard to explain. I can’t show you, but I _can_ let you take a look at the cockpit, if you want.”

“We’d like that,” said Allura with a smile. “Thank you.”

Shiro tilted his head. “The cockpit? But aren’t you suspended?”

“When someone volunteers to let you in someplace off-limits, you don’t question it,” smiled Allura, wider this time.

This actually coaxed a tiny upward twitch of Keith’s lips. He looked a little more relaxed. “She gets it.”

“Terrible,” lamented Shiro with a mock scowl. He cleared his throat, trying hard not to think about that smirk. “Back to the risks, what makes you so sure our opponent lawyers will take that angle?”

“Well… I know the scientists who developed the teleportation infrastructure. We’re…” Keith paused, choosing his words. He grimaced, then gritted out as if it hurt him to admit, “Friends.”

“Got any names for us?”

“Samuel, and Matt,” said Keith.

“You’re kidding,” Shiro said slowly. “You don’t mean _that_ Samuel and _that_ Matt. The Holt family?”

“Yeah,” replied Keith, lip quirked once more.

“Who?” asked Allura.

“The Holt family. The ones who helped developed the first plasma-fusing energy plant,” said Shiro, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “I was wondering why they were so silent these past years. They’re known in the scientific community for breaking the borders of human knowledge. They’ve successfully mapped out the terrain of Kerberos, for heaven’s sake.”

“Uh huh,” said Allura, giving Keith a look Shiro was well acquainted with, the one that said, _I apologise for him, he’s just being the six year old he is._

“Yeah,” said Keith. His smile, slight as it was, wavered. “They tell me about the lawsuits they’re threatened with. It isn’t pretty.”

The pieces became clear suddenly. The friends Keith had mentioned earlier, the reason why Keith was here and so willing to cooperate, why Keith hadn’t already quit and gone rogue. Keith knew the people who worked to make this unfeeling system work, and he knew how they were _human,_ that they still felt and lived and breathed like any other. Shiro thought about the pilots he’d seen Keith hanging out with, how bright his gaze had been, that smirk and those laughs, and he realised he’d forgotten what earned him the win against the Arena in the first place — that no matter how brutal the system, the people inside them were _human,_ even if they were forced to be monsters for something bigger.

He took a breath. “And you want us to fight to protect your friends?”

Keith scrubbed a hand across his face, self-conscious. “Yeah. I came here to ask you personally. Because I know it’s hard and unfair for you. But I still… I still really want you to win.”

Shiro kept his expression as neutral as he could. That one sentence drove a stake into his chest. _Friends._ The people who’d put three years of suffering into Shiro’s mind without knowing. And Keith was asking _him_ to protect them.

“Why? The pay isn’t fantastic, the hours are long, you have a mean PR team —” Shiro smirked as Keith made a face. “— and it’s _dangerous._ I know the company means a lot to you, but no matter what the people in this reality matter more than the other reality your friends create.”

Keith opened his mouth, then averted his gaze. Allura glared and Shiro mouthed back, _What?_ He had this bad habit of figuring someone out a little too fast, and then knowing exactly the words to say to make things hit home. People always said it was the reason why he became a lawyer. And he couldn’t deny that sometimes it was helpful.

Now, he was lashing out because he was tired of being used and then discarded. He _wanted_ to say something that struck deep. He wanted to feel like _something_ he did mattered. He wanted Keith to admit that _he_ mattered.

“Because,” said Keith abruptly, “You’re the only one I trust.”

Shiro felt his indignation die.

“No other lawyer’s going to believe me if I said it wasn’t my fault.” Keith stood and gritted out, “I wish it was my fault that you went through what you did. But it isn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that even an experienced pilot like me can bring people so much pain.”

 _Pain_ couldn’t even begin to describe it. Shiro counted to ten to calm himself, then ran through his options.

He didn’t know what Keith’s role was, or how a Teludav operated, and there was always a risk they’d really end up in court. And then what? A jury would always side with the _human._ Shiro knew, and had exploited this all those years ago too when he fought his biggest battles in court.

Keith had friends and loved his job but no matter how idealistic, humanising Teludav Inc. could backfire. If he brought someone on the stand to soften the edges of the black-and-white legislations just a little, they might reveal how little they knew about the transporter. Even Keith was admitting that experience counted for little. There was only so much the human spirit could make up for when faced with fears of the unknown.

“Shiro,” Keith pleaded. When Shiro looked up the pilot’s countenance was heavy with stress. “Please. They’re people I love and care for. I would do anything for them.”

“He gets it,” said Allura. Keith didn’t react. Allura continued, “Shiro, I know you want to help. There’ll be time for you to heal later on. This is the right thing to do. Even if we were played, we can’t just leave them.”

Shiro looked from Allura, to Keith, and back to her again. Shiro knew by now that when Allura had this expression there was no convincing her to drop her plans. That same defiant spark lived in Keith, too. It was endearing, but also… _argh._

He’d always been too soft at heart.

Painfully aware of the weight of Allura’s gaze on him, he took a deep breath and stood. Offering Keith his best handshake and his bravest smile he said, “Mr. Kogane, as the representatives for Teludav Inc., we’ll do all we can to help you and your colleagues.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was purgatory on earth, and it took the manifested as sleepless four hour rides in stuffy train cabins that smelled of dried booze and vomit with gassy babies wailing two seats down.

Shiro still made it on time at 08:50, jetlagged (trainlagged?), missing several screws in his head—

“I know a hardware shop a block down the road,” said Keith.

Neither Allura or Shiro knew whether Keith meant that as a joke, but they laughed anyway. Well, Allura laughed. Shiro only managed a vaguely wheezing sound. 

(Keith didn’t bat an eyelid.)

Although Keith’s pilot keycard no longer worked, his colleagues were more than happy to let them into the lounge. “Lawyer business,” Keith said whenever asked, much to the chagrin of the attorneys, but most of the pilots only had raised eyebrows and an occasional “Good luck” in exchange.

Huh.

It took several hours and seven cups of shitty instant coffee between them (most of them Shiro’s) for Shiro to understand what Keith was explaining. Or rather, what Keith  _ tried _ to explain. With the acronyms and jargon peppered throughout the conversation it was a wonder Shiro could understand anything at all. Allura looked more baffled than he (“I’m a fine arts major,” was her excuse). Explaining complex terms to a layman was a skill and needed patience that Keith didn’t seem to have.

The second time Keith was frustrated enough to dig fingers in his hair Shiro held up a hand to intervene, “Tell you what, one last time before we call it quits.”

Keith grumbled under his breath, then looked up. “You got a pen?”

A diagram helped immensely. (Keith was resourceful — yet another thing Shiro didn’t need to find endearing about Pilot RED 0626.)

So here was the gist of it that Shiro got. A teleportation commute required three parts: two rings of Scaultrite lenses, the anti-space between them, and a Teludav that ferried passengers between the two Scaultrite portals. 

A Teludav was built clunky and heavy for good reason. They had to keep their passengers intact (Shiro prefered the word safe) through the ruthless pressures of something quite like deep space. A typical commute, therefore, involved a Teludav departing from its usual spot on the platform and disappearing into a flat circular disk of void. After going through… whatever it was that pilots did to keep them in track in there, they would emerge through a waiting Scaultrite wormhole on the other side, safe and sound, and the transfer would be complete.

Each commute took precisely nine minutes because space and time didn’t follow the same rules. Especially inside the in-between space, as Keith called it — in there, each atom inside the Teludav was put into stasis, a temporary pause as the Teludav moved, stately, towards its destination. In Keith’s drawing, they existed as a tangled knot of lines. 

When the passengers finally emerged out the other side, their minds would ‘fill in’ the missing space with memories as best as it could. Without this step Shiro and the other passengers would find a part of their existence jolted forward nine minutes, with no proper explanation.

“And your brain has no choice but to trick itself. Or something like that. I’m not a brain scientist,” said Keith.

“So that’s why I’m always asleep or bored on a Teludav,” said Shiro.

“Er, well, yes, something like that.” Keith shrugged with a nod.

Shiro found it faintly disconcerting. Even the pilots didn’t know what went on in there?

Keith continued, “Problem comes when it takes more than nine minutes to jump. Happens when there are delays. The brain can’t handle that kind of strain. So the computer takes over.”

This computer Keith referred to was called Central Systems. The system oversaw the transfer of atoms and particles from one Scaultrite tunnel, through the in-between space, and out of the next. It also made sure that all particles exited in the same configuration that they were while they entered, and prompted a passenger’s brain to ‘fill in’ the missing gaps from its stasis.

To Shiro’s chagrin, it was also the  _ thing _ responsible for all of his suffering.

“How long did my jump take?” asked Shiro.

Shiro could feel Keith’s walls slamming back up. “Twelve minutes.”

“Three minutes more than usual? You mean that’s enough for…” Shiro checked himself, lowered his voice, took a deep breath,  _ calm down Shiro, the pilot’s not the one at fault. _ “Look, I thought I was in there for three years.”

Allura cut in. “I imagine it’s something like dreaming, Shiro. Like how when you fall asleep for five minutes you can dream up entire castles and period dramas. Makes sense?”

“Well, no, but—“

Shiro doubled over the table with a cough, trying to strangle the sound of pain before they escaped. His shin burned. Allura gave him a firmer glare as she said, “Makes sense, Shiro?”

He hated Allura’s stilettos! “Yeah I guess,” he gritted out.

Keith gave them weird looks but otherwise didn’t seem to catch on to whatever was going on, thank god. He said, “Well, see… We can’t really control what Central Systems does, so…”

“Right,” said Allura, while Shiro was busy nursing his shin along with a mighty inward sulk, “So what exactly do pilots do?”

 

-

 

Their demonstrator had a bounce in every step, a sun-melting smile, and a competitive spirit that obviously rubbed Keith the wrong way. His name was Lance, ID BLU 0881. Keith was visibly restraining himself from punching something as the new arrival leaned in and nudged his ribs roughly. 

“Mornin’, my dudes, and hey Keith, you finally over that slump from being fired yet?”

“I’m not fired,” growled Keith.

“Suspended, fired, tomayto, tomahto.” Lance puffed his chest. “Well look no further, your old pal Lance’ll show you the ins and outs of Teludav travel before you can say —”

“Lance, let’s just go.” Keith slunk away and disappeared inside the pilot’s cockpit.

Lance turned to them with a resigned smile. “Don’t mind him, ol’ grumpy wumpy pants can’t even talk before 11:45 am.” He stuck a hand out. “Allura, right?”

Allura gave Shiro an amused glance (where was  _ his _ handshake, huh?) before accepting the hand with a polite smile. “A pleasure, Lance.”

“L- _ ah _ -nce! Oh, you make me feel like a prince.” Lance sidled up to her. “Got some time after lunch? I know a quaint little cafe with great coffee and cinnamon buns almost as sweet as you—”

Shiro cleared his throat. 

Lance pulled away, looking almost offended as he said, “Sorry, can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”

_ “We’re _ in the middle of something,” came Keith’s muffled shout from the Teludav.

“Oh  _ alright, _ no need to get your gloves wet.” Lance slouched over with a roll of his eyes. More yelling floated over from the cockpit. The two lawyers contemplated what they were getting themselves into.

“Quite the character,” deadpanned Allura. 

Shiro huffed. “Charming.”

 

-

 

The platform was still quiet this close to lunchtime. After all it wasn’t a passenger platform — but a cargo one. It was barren, lacking the half-dead potted plants and friendly benches meant to soften the look of the place. Instead, forklifts and boxes littered the area. 

Instead of chairs, metal floors of cargo Teludavs were fitted with grooves and brackets for strapping down loose boxes. Pilot BLU 0881 was a cargo pilot in charge of Teludav networks with districts all over central and western Europe. “Probably where I pick up my charms,” remarked Lance as he drew flourishes in the air. His finger landed daintily on a button. 

In response his Teludav shuddered and everyone grabbed the nearest thing for support. Everyone except Keith, who seemed to be expecting this and coped with some casual and unperturbed swaying. 

(“Stop showing off,” said Lance, to which Keith said “Stop screwing up.” Nothing more was said, which was a relief, Shiro didn’t know how much he could take with two yelling pilots in such a cramped space.)

“We’re not actually… you know, teleporting, are we?” Shiro asked with some hesitation.

“God no,” Keith balked. “It’s unsafe. Lance is just supposed to  _ show _ us how it’s done—”

“Imjustsaying I could get you lot safely to Vienna and back without breaking a sweat.”

“Lance,” Keith said roughly, with a glance at Shiro, “No teleporting.”

“But—”

_ “No.” _ Keith growled, barely on the the edge of agitation, and thankfully Lance acquiesced with a grumble. Shiro tried not to pay attention to his tightening chest, or the pins and needles pricking his fingers. 

He was safe. Another comforting squeeze on his arm. Allura was frowning.  _ Need a break? _ Shiro shook his head no and tried to refocus on Lance’s explanation.

“… and this is the headband we use to draw up the connections between two wormholes. It’s kinda like playing telephone with the cups and yarn, except you’re in a hugeass room with the lights off and you’re in charge of threading the yarn from one cup to the other. It’s not like there’s no light, you know? It’s more like, you  _ know _ there’s nothing in there. Just like… when you write on a form,  _ Not Applicable.” _ Lance spun the headband carelessly around one finger. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be in a dark room with string and  _ cups _ but that’s what moonlighting is for, right?”

“Er,” said Keith. 

“So pilots are… pathfinders,” Allura said, hurrying to move the conversation along.

“Guess that works. We’re pathfinders. And oh, we also make sure the wagon doesn’t suddenly fall off rainbow road. Because that’s where the people sit,” Lance grinned at Shiro.

“I see,” said Shiro. He did not want to see. The thought was mortifying. What happened down there? Was there a  _ down _ to speak of when you travelled between dimensions? 

And could you get out?

“So it depends on whether the connection’s been made beforehand. If it has, great! I’ll just pop on the headband and we’re off. But if I’m taking over someone’s shift, then yeah, I might have to feel around for the route.” Lance checked his watch. “Might take me about two hours? to sync up with the other wormhole.”

“The sync. That’s probably where something went wrong,” said Keith, coming to some realisation, “I don’t usually make mistakes, but if something got screwed it’s during the sync.” 

“Great, why don’t you just go brag about your  _ ace pilot _ status to a bunch of lawyers who don’t care,” Lance muttered.

“Dude, I didn’t even  _ mention _ it, okay?”

Shiro sighed. “Can we not?” 

Allura still had to step in. Her presence was a miracle, partly because Lance seemed to have the hots for her, and that seemed to save Shiro any additional stress he didn’t need. 

Shiro tried to listen, but things just went over his head. There were too many colored buttons, too many status boxes and indicators, and it was too cramped. Teludav cockpits were not built for four. He just focused on keeping his breathing steady, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, and hoping that his grip on reality wouldn’t disappear again while he wasn’t paying attention. 

 

-

 

“Hey,” Keith was beside him immediately when they disembarked. Concern was written large across his face. “You alright?”

Concern? On impulse, Shiro glanced at the platform clock. 11:53 — the numbers were large and legible — Not a dream. 

With relief, he looked around to check if Keith was talking to him. Seemed like he was the only possible candidate for the role, because Allura was giving him a coy smile from where Lance was showing her some old documents.

Damn it, Allura.

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um, mostly. Did I look tense in there?”

“Only a lot. I’m sorry about Lance. He can be kind of a douche sometimes, but he’s a good guy.”

Keith subtly guided him over to a pile of boxes, and they sat. Shiro teased, “Come on, are you really sorry about him?”

“He’s my colleague, and one of the few who hasn’t cut off all ties with me,” scolded Keith. A pause. “But alright, you got me.”

Shiro laughed. As much as Keith didn’t seem to like him, there was something Shiro needed to thank Lance for: easing away some of Keith’s wariness. Those walls couldn’t be brought down by someone in a professional relationship. Only friends, no matter how annoying, could do that. 

Keith leaned back on his arms, taking in the Teludavs and the wrapped boxes of all sizes. “I hope I get to go back to work soon,” he murmured. “I already miss my Teludav.” 

“Was that true? What you said in there. That you didn’t make any mistake?” 

Keith lowered his gaze.

“When you’re jumping between worlds like us, there are things you just don’t know.” Keith began haltingly. “But I know for real that I’ve been careful, as careful as I’ve always been. It’s the same route. The same routine.”

“And the sync? You said it might’ve been the source of the problems.”

In his lap, Keith’s fingers tightened. “There are some pilots who are cleared for transport, but aren’t allowed to set up a sync from scratch. Like Lance. He can follow routes, but not make or remake new ones. Because transportation is the easy part. Setting up an fresh sync before your shift is very, very dangerous.”

In other words, a sync carried the most risk  _ and _ the most danger. Since Keith wasn’t sure which part of his jump led to the error, he was making an informed guess. 

Informed guesses were fine, but Shiro needed a lead to show the jury that the system wasn’t  _ all _ that terrifying. That it could be controlled. That something similar could be  _ prevented. _ That was all they wanted to hear, after all. If it could be prevented again, Shiro might be able to get away with more.

But that had to do with their case. Keith was the one he was talking to now. And he needed to be here, for Keith. 

“For what it’s worth, Keith, don’t beat yourself up over it. Whenever I see you, you’re attentive and persistent, and you never give up without a fight. It’s going to get better, I promise.”

Keith looked at him, eyes wide, vulnerable, afraid to even hope.

Then, a fragile, “Thank you,” whispered for only Shiro to hear.

Shiro’s phone buzzed against his thigh. The moment broken, Shiro dug the offending thing from his pocket and swiped. 

 

[ 03-07-2019]

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (12:15) Sorry to intrude lmao ya’ll look real comfortable there

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (12:15) Just got the news, motion to dismiss denied. We’re due in court, tomorrow 16:00

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (12:16) Looks like prosecution’s hurrying things along while the wound’s fresh. And I have reason to think they know the judge. We’ve got a tough fight ahead of us.


	6. Chapter 6

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Thursday, July 4 2019, 16:01 PM.

Shiro was no stranger to the Tellus Civil Court. After all this was where the name  _ Champion _ had been forced on him, and he’d single handedly taken down the Arena. Unlike his most famous case, however, this case was proving to be riddled with problems from the very start.

“All rise.”

A clutter of chairs. The door to the judge’s chambers opened.

“You said there’d be a  _ jury,” _ hissed Shiro to Allura.

“How was I supposed to know?” Allura gritted back, “I was dreading a bench trial as much as you!” 

The object of their frustrations entered with a grouchy scowl and pointed nose upturned.  _ Yes, judge, every lawyer worth two grains of salt knows they’re beneath you, no need to rub it in. _ One final glare at the attorneys, at the lone journalist in the corner, and the audience at the back, before he deposited himself at his chair and gestured impatiently for the clerk to get on with proceedings. 

“Of all the judges,” muttered Allura, after prosecution and defense had both introduced themselves to all present. Shiro had no time for frustration. Judges weren’t merely adjudicators. They were  _ opponents, _ each with their quirks and personalities. He’d just have to work around this one too.

Judge Morvok Taujeer was a menace. He processed cases with a brutal efficiency, rendering lives and hurts to nothing but materials and statistics, things to be tossed aside after they were assessed. When irked, he had the temper of a five year old and the vindictiveness of a playground bully. As a child Shiro had beat up so many that he recognised them just by looking. It wasn’t hard; the man’s eyes were fiendishly big and they rolled. The sight might’ve been comical if Shiro didn’t want to put his fist where Taujeer’s nose was.

“I am properly sick and tired of these Teludav cases. They are a waste of time and court resources,” snapped Taujeer, before prosecution could even begin. 

He jabbed a plump finger at Shiro, who struggled not to let his expression shrivel with distaste. 

“For Arus & Lions, I expected something decent.”

“We were hard pressed for time, your honour. Prosecution rushed us—”

“You represent a multimillion dollar company. Have some standards. Ever since Alfor died your company’s been a wreck.” 

Shiro set a heavy hand on Allura’s shoulder, stopping her from springing from her seat. He didn’t need to look to know she was seething. 

Taujeer turned his wrath onto prosecution. “And you! Explain your position. How can anyone sue for claims without proper psychiatric or financial assessments? Are you out of your mind?”

“We want to set precedence, your honor. It’s time for status quo to change. Teludav Inc. has brought new legal challenges and we must address them.” 

Lead prosecutor went by the nickname Rolo. Apparently, the guy’s name was just far too long. He’d given Shiro a firm handshake when they met for the first time outside the courtroom. Shiro didn’t miss dark roots showing through his harshly bleached hair. “Glad to finally hear from the Champion himself. You’re a slightly smaller in person,” Rolo had said with a wry grin. 

Rolo gestured at Shiro, at defense. “Teludav Inc. should explain to the public, and to the court, why they’re willing to use such risky transportation techniques despite lacking scientific consensus on its safety.”

Shiro and Allura shared a glance. This was playing out exactly as Keith had warned.

“As a result of the negligence from Teludav Inc., Ms. Balmera and her family were all subject to a period of emotional and psychological distress—”

Shiro cut in smoothly, “Ms. Balmera filed a motion to sue for  _ damages, _ your honor. We shouldn’t waste the court’s time and manpower debating the competency of Teludav Inc.”

“But they’re interlinked, see. For a case as unique as ours, the amount of compensatory damages should be proportional to the degree of harm that Teludav Inc. is willing to transfer onto its passengers.”

“Alright, I think I’ve heard enough,” said Taujeer, already bored. “Let’s just move this along. Call your first witness.” 

 

-

 

First testimony belonged to a tired-looking scientist who might’ve never felt joy. His voice was monotonous. “Transportation is a complicated issue,” explained the scientist, one Kyle Anderson. “Even Teludav Inc. is constantly undergoing research and internal checks. There’s just that much unknown. When it comes to spacetime travel, even the slightest margin of error will have disastrous consequences. The scientific community applauds Teludav Inc. for its innovative breakthroughs, but we can’t be the checks and balances to every single private company.”

“How does this relate to Ms. Balmera’s case?” Rolo prompted gently, 

“The ones at the receiving end of the risk are passengers just like Ms. Balmera. Because big companies like Teludav Inc. only want profits. It’s a matter of outpricing other transport companies and setting up a monopoly. And once the customer base is secured, the company will cut down on their safety, like Teludav Inc. has done.”

 

-

 

As was tradition, the night before any high stakes case, Shiro and Allura settled in the den with coffee (irish for her) and ran over the specifics of their defense. They needed to react quickly during a cross examination after all, and it was always reassuring to know everyone on the team was on the same page. Alfor had come up with this routine, but Shiro and his friend did this long before they entered the working world, the night before finals or any major presentation. There was always a quiet satisfaction to derive from this, one that soothed the nerves.

“What about risks? They’ll bring up some researcher for sure.”

“We’re not going to dispute  _ risk,” _ explained Shiro. “If we discredit the person on the stand, we discredit the idea of risk.”

Allura nodded. “Because when it comes to matters of science—”

“Expert opinion is bought opinion. And with all testimony, it’s always partisan.”

 

-

 

Time for Shiro’s cross. He stood and gave his most winning smile. Taujeer peered harder.

“Thank you for outlining the science for the court, Mr Anderson. A few questions — who exactly is part of this ‘scientific community’ you mentioned?”

Anderson’s eye twitched in annoyance. “Must I give you name cards?”

“Oh, so you do have them, does this mean you’ve been talking to them personally, or is this all just… hearsay?”

“Majority of—”

“And do you own the name cards of the majority of these esteemed scientists?” 

Anderson paused, frustrated. “No.”

“So how’d you hear about the consensus? Or lack thereof?”

“Journals. They publish their findings regularly. Mostly conferences. Forums—”

“Like the Regional Transport Forum held ten years ago? I recall there was a small protest against Teludav Inc. back then.” Shiro turned his back. “So are all these  _ events _ similarly antagonistic to teleporters in general, or are you just highly selective of the people you mix with?”

“Objection,” said Rolo. 

“Withdrawn,” said Shiro with a wave of his hand, but the remark had made its sting.

From the corner of Shiro’s gaze Judge Taujeer was gnawing a thumbnail. A disgusting but reassuring indication that the judge was using the space between his ears.

“Let’s move on.”

“Let’s,” agreed Anderson flatly.

“What was your major back in college?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

Shiro tilted his head innocently. “Oh? … not even business? Or dimensional engineering?”

Anderson pursed his lips, recognising the trap. “No, but I’ve had thirteen years of experience dealing with Teludav infrastructure.”

“But… you’re not hired by my client, Teludav Inc.,” said Shiro slowly, as if not understanding the links.

“I may not be, but I do research on similar matter transportation systems, Mr Shirogane.”

“And not on, say, the creation of indices or benchmarks to analyse the risk of teleportation? What about transport oligopolies? Or economic clustering, or the fiscal impacts of firm mergers?”

“If you’re asking about specificity, my work primarily focuses on the stability of inter-jump matter states.”

“So, about that economic analysis just now…” Shiro gave him a quizzical look, and Anderson sighed.

“… No.”

“Ah.”

Shiro turned to the prosecution table. He spied Ms Balmera there immediately, clutching a handkerchief to her chest with wide, dismayed eyes. 

“So you testify in court, making claims about financial risk despite lacking any former experience?”

Anderson glared and said nothing.

So Shiro said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He folded his arms and walked to his desk, where Allura was seated ramrod straight. This defensive act cultivated distance. Now that he was representing a multinational firm, he needed to show that its stance on such issues was more than clear.

“Last question, Mr Anderson. As one of the  _ leaders _ in the teleportation business, have you read the conditions of carriage for Teludav Inc.?”

Anderson frowned. “The what?”

_ Hook, line, and sinker. _ Shiro smiled, a poster boy of television-standard professionalism for everyone watching. 

“That’s all from defense, your honor.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Wednesday, August 21 2019, 17:34 PM.

“Could you state your name and position for the court, please?”

“Prorok. I oversee the R&D efforts for Teludav Inc. I’ve worked with Teludav’s parent company, GalraTech for over fifteen years. When the first Teludav was developed, I moved to Teludav Inc. to work for about ten more.” 

It was Allura’s turn on the floor, with Prorok on the stand. It was the first time Shiro had ever heard the man utter more than a few words, but he’d learnt to recognise the boredom that underscored every word. 

There was no question that only Allura could interrogate him. Warmth was precious in a courtroom and Shiro’s brand of it was simply too polished and rigid. “Not  _ likeable  _ likeable, more like the cool senior you ogle from afar,” was Allura’s take on his demeanour. She could play many hands: she could threaten to toss you like a sack of potatoes into the back of a dirty old pickup with nothing but a single glare, or she could radiate the innocence of a Disney princess having her hair braided by a mischief of mice. 

Or in this case, exude a perfect balance of sympathy and worry that any mother related to. They were playing Judge Taujeer like a fiddle: he had his full attention on Prorok.

“Thank you. Tell me about what you did.”

Prorok let out a huff of air. “Where do I start? Let’s see… I’m part of Teludav Inc.’s risk evaluation team. We constantly review the equipment and run tests to minimize a hardware or software malfunction.”

“The previous witness, Mr Anderson, raised that a high risk was conferred to passengers. Do you agree?” 

“Of course,” Prorok drawled, sounding insulted that Allura had even asked the question. “Every form of transport carries  _ some _ degree of risk. Unfortunately the idea of ‘risk’ is also relational. Nationwide, more than a million people die from a vehicle-related accident every year. In our precinct, where our traffic enforcement officials are underpaid and our roads badly maintained, we struggle with fifteen thousand deaths yearly and triple the number of traffic violations.”

“I don’t need to be reminded about traffic court,” groaned Taujeer. “Get to the point and tell me what that has to do with Teludav Inc.”

Prorok closed his eyes, visibly willing himself to calm down. Shiro bit back a smile of pity. Same here, pal. Finally Prorok said, “In its twelve years of operation, there have been no casualties, and only a handful of violations for passengers trying to sneak in, or using forged tickets. Even so, we’ve proven that a Teludav can handle ten more than its current capacity. Ms. Balmera’s experience is hardly life-threatening.”

“Thank you. Unfortunately we haven’t heard from Ms. Balmera yet, so the verdict is still out—”

“Listen,” said Prorok with a tint of impatience, “She’s walking, healthy, fit enough to show up in court, it’s a lot better than the sorry folks sent home in a wooden box.”

“You sound uncharacteristically frustrated,” Allura cut in, just as Rolo stood to object. Taujeer clicked his tongue and waved the prosecutor down like swatting away a fly.

“Of course I am!” Prorok set a clenched fist on the banister of the witness stand. “GalraTech set out to  _ reduce _ these traffic incidents. My team and I work around the clock to make that happen.  _ Fifteen thousand _ deaths,  _ every _ year. But my firm is being trialed over someone’s  _ perceived _ trauma?”

Rolo growled. “Your honour!”

“She doesn’t even have a  _ scratch—” _

Allura cleared her throat. Oh, Shiro recognised this sound intimately. Thank god he wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

Even the Judge had frozen with his gavel raised mid swing. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re asking me to shut up, counsel?” 

In reply, Allura gestured at the lawyer and her witness.  _ Are you watching the same lawsuit as I am, or do I have to explain these grievances to you in a flash presentation? _

Satisfied, Taujeer put down his gavel and resumed a more neutral glare.

Allura said, “I’m sure we all extend our sympathies to the parties affected. We all have our reasons for raised tempers. But let’s keep discussion civil.”

Prorok snorted and Rolo whispered something to Ms. Balmera, who worried her lip.

Allura continued with a warm smile, “We both want to make sure Teludav Inc. minimizes its risk to its patrons, and we want to prevent it from happening again. Right now, we’re all on the same side.”

Shiro smirked inwardly. Like her dad, Allura was one hell of a lawyer. She could be a monster but she could also make monsters become your best friends. Still, Shiro prepared himself for the inevitable unwind where he’d have to brave Allura’s pent-up rage about the whole shebang. 

Ah, the price of friendship.

“Let’s get back to the case, shall we?” Allura gestured. “Mr. Prorok. Let’s assume for the moment there are risks that could be conferred to a passenger—”

“There  _ are _ risks,” said Prorok curtly. “Which is why we make every passenger sign an agreement form before their first commute.”

“The conditions of carriage, your honour, and it’s crucial to the—”

“I don’t have it,” said Taujeer.

Allura turned to the judge’s bench slowly, where Taujeer had puffed up in indignation. 

“We submitted an annotated and marked copy, your honour,” she began slowly, “It’s labelled File H 3(ii).”

Taujeer sighed and rifled through the unwieldy pile of folders, muttering darkly. 

Rolo caught Shiro’s gaze and wordlessly they shared a brief moment of sorry sympathy —  _ That guy’s an idiot. Yeah, I think I’d do better with my eyes closed.  _ Only god (or whatever corresponding ruler of the spacetime fabric) knew how Taujeer was still in this godforsaken legal system.

Finally having located the offending file Taujeer leaned back on his chair. It squeaked. He flicked his hand to bid Allura continue.

Not ruffled in the slightest, Allura said, “The conditions of carriage is crucial to the case, is it not, Mr. Prorok?”

“Well, it’s not only the passengers at risk during commutes. The company’s at risk too. Ms Balmera has signed the form. Like every other passenger we’ve serviced. We make everyone sign a waiver before they begin transport.”

“And it’s enough for the passengers?”

“Has to be. Just for Central Station alone, we have a ridership of 8 billion every year. That’s over 20 million a day.” Prorok turned to Taujeer with a sanguine smile and said, “That’s a very big number.”

Rolo coughed and Shiro ground his teeth into his tongue to keep from laughing.

“And,” said Prorok before anyone could say a word, “We also make sure our pilots check every single passenger’s safety harness before departure. The process alone takes about 5 minutes. For a commute that’s 10 minutes long, saving that extra 5 minutes could allow us to double profits. Unfortunately, we aren’t as vampiric as Mr Anderson makes us out to be.”

 

-

 

“Stumbled onto our worse case scenario,” murmured Shiro from the corner of his mouth as Allura took her seat.

She drummed fingers on the desk in irritation. “Seriously. I tried to keep him away from talking about the pilots. I instructed him  _ never _ to volunteer information.”

“Taujeer got under his skin.” 

The Judge was busy studying a speck on his fingernails. 

Opposing counsel stood to begin the cross. Walking over to the witness stand, Rolo leaned an elbow companionably on the railing and nodded politely. In greeting, Prorok lifted a corner of his lip in something not unlike a snarl. Hesitantly, Rolo withdrew his elbow. 

Clearly Prorok didn’t like the guy. That was fine but for heaven’s sake why did Prorok feel the need to show it in court? Jaws still clenched in a tight smile, Shiro let out a pained breath of air. “Oh dear.” 

Allura prodded his arm. “Time to fight fires. I need you sharp and and I need you  _ here. _ We have work to do.” 

 

-

 

“Thank you for sharing, Prorok,” began Rolo, “Putting aside the experiences of Ms Balmera, who shall be testifying shortly…” 

The lawyer paused and Shiro could feel the tension in the courtroom skyrocket. The metaphorical bait was tantalizing. Prorok had let his guard down briefly earlier and Shiro was making promises to every hell he knew that he would kill Prorok and then personally drag him out of the fires of hell if something went wrong. 

Thank goodness Prorok merely stared, impassive, and said nothing. 

Almost disappointed, Rolo went on, “I just wanted to find out how your team engages with the pilots. Look like a real busy guy, you do, does your team have the manpower to oversee all the staff?”

Allura swore under her breath and Shiro abandoned hope that Rolo would’ve missed the weak point Prorok had revealed. 

“We train them all personally, yes,” drawled Prorok. “We make sure each of them score distinctions on a self-designed Basic Pilot Training course. Or BPT for short.”

“Oh, you lot and your acronyms,” grinned Rolo.

“Yes… acronyms,” said Prorok humorlessly. “On top of scoring distinctions on spacetime theory and passing the safety tests, our pilots undergo a strict training regimen.”

“So you chaps are  _ real _ busy then. Having to monitor—” Rolo held up spindly fingers to count, “—hardware  _ and _ software  _ and _ skills training. What was it, soft skills and hard skills, yes?”

“Soft skills for handling passengers, hard skills for handling the Teludav.”

Rolo clicked his tongue. “Handling’s a rather unfeeling word, don’t you think?”

Prorok mimicked the noise. “So is  _ risk _ and  _ monopoly _ and  _ degree of harm, _ but such is the inadequacy of our lexicon.” 

Shiro and Allura exchanged glances.  _ Is he for real? I didn’t know he was capable of comebacks like that. Yes, we need a couple of good stiff drinks later. _

Rolo was doing the opposite of what Shiro and Allura were trying to do. While they were trying to humanise their client, Rolo was trying to establish the cold, ‘unfeeling’ side to it. Nothing Shiro hadn’t seen before in dozens of court cases. It was child’s play.

What wasn’t child’s play, however, was —

“Sure, good, let’s talk about risk then, Mr Prorok.”

_ God damn it. _

“When you did up those fancy predictions and models, did you factor your pilots into the equation?”

It dawned on Prorok, suddenly and visibly, what Rolo’s line of attack was and how much he had already given away. 

“Mr Prorok, if you could answer for the court.”

“No.” 

Rolo tilted his head, “No?”

“No, we did not factor the pilots into our models.”

“Right. So no pilots, no follow up on their…  _ risk factor, _ then.” Rolo paced the floor. “And remind me again, your team is in charge of doing risk assessments for the company?”

“That’s correct.” 

“So this is… uh…” Rolo gestured vaguely. “What is a pilot’s relationship to your team, exactly?”

“We train them,” said Prorok. 

“Yes, we all know that,” cut in Taujeer brusquely. “You’re the head of the team, aren’t you? Elaborate!” 

“For god’s sake,” muttered Shiro as he stood. “Your honour, I’d like to request a ten minute recess.”

“Whatever for? Sit down, counsel! And you, elaborate.”

Prorok sighed. By now he’d surely had his fill of pesky lawyers asking him inane questions but Shiro was practically  _ begging _ him not to give away too much. The man was under oath, but that only covered everything he said out loud. As the old adage went:  _ you have the right to remain silent. _

“Everything they say is scripted by the team beforehand. It’s part of the pilot’s PBT.”

“Pilot Basic Training, huh.” Rolo tapped his chin. “I assume this training also includes emergency preparations, I assume?” 

“That’s correct.”

“And therefore, during an emergency, what is a pilot’s duty?”

A glance over Shiro’s shoulder towards the public seating area. “A pilot is to abort the jump and deactivate the Teludav ASAP, to make sure the passengers are safe while their minimizing impact.” 

Observant, just like any lawyer worth his salt, Rolo followed the gaze and let out a soft  _ Ah, _ of pleasant surprise.

“So you’re telling me that it’s pilots like Keith Kogane who are responsible for the trauma and distress of Ms Balmera?”

Shiro and Allura sprang to their feet. “Objection!” 

“Withdrawn,” said Rolo as he returned to his bench. “No more questions, your honour.”

For a second Keith’s eyes went dark with fury. It was easy to guess why; he’d already said it wasn’t his fault, and even though the blame was pinned on him he had no chance to defend himself. To be blamed by your employer was something immensely difficult to take in stride, especially if you loved the job as much as Keith did.

Seeming to remember where he was, Keith recoiled into himself. The violet fire of his eyes vanished from sight barely in the nick of time — a camera shutter went off and Taujeer had to pluck his thumbnail from his mouth to harshly reprimand all journalists present to observe decorum.

The yelling was a faraway haze. Shiro only saw Keith from the corner of his eyes, for a split second, but the image refused to leave. Keith, with anger written across his hunched frame. Keith, a bundle of tightly-wound nerves. 

Keith, dragged into a battle he was bound to lose.


	7. Chapter 7

_ MEMORY LOSS DEVASTATES 20, AMNESIAC SHAY BALMERA BLAMES TELUDAV INC. FOR HIRING EX-CON PILOTS _

_ In the uphill skirmish against transport giant Teludav Inc., Shay’s lawyer forced a terrifying secret out of the company’s lead engineer. Turns out, the hiring team has been ignoring the backgrounds of the applicants for pilot’s position.  _

_ “What company doesn’t screen their employees before hiring them? It just doesn’t make sense. I sure as hell wouldn’t trust anything to those pilots now,” says an anonymous firsthand witness of the devastating Teludav crash four months ago.  _

_ And rightly so — the pilot behind the wheel at the time was one Keith Kogane, a broody and anger-prone delinquent who’d barely scraped past flight school at the Garrison Galaxy. Not only did the kid rack up five times more demerit points than your average cadet, he was actually detained in the barracks for several infractions of Garrison code. In fact we can confirm that he wasn’t just a lone wolf and wildcard. He was actually temporarily suspended for stealing and banging up a Sergeant’s hoverbike, and served his sentence without a modicum of remorse!  _

_ Our faithful insider sources have also confirmed that Keith Kogane was actively scouted out by Teludav Inc. despite full knowledge about his horrific track record.  _

_ Despite that Teludav Inc. has the gall to send Haxus up on stage for a press conference: “The safety of our loyal passengers has always been our utmost concern. We are looking into more thorough checks and balances so we can avoid another incident like that happening, and we are working round the clock to set things right.” _

_ Really? Do you get it, Teludav folk? These are the people in charge of ferrying billions of passengers through time and space. Maybe you should be fixing your pilots before their machines, huh? Either way, stay tuned to the next installment of the Balmera V Teludav Inc. case, and you can count on the folk over at Vrepit Says to bring you only the juiciest cuts!  _

 

Meeting Room #05-14. Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Monday, September 23 2019, 16:01 PM.

Shiro tossed the tabloid on the table, where it slid over to the three Teludav reps taking their time to settle in their seats. Sendak was the only one who deigned to give it a lazy, sidelong glance. 

“Explain.”

Allura jumped in, “We agreed to avoid speaking about your staff, both  _ inside _ the court and  _ out _ of it.”

“Slipped my mind,” said Prorok blandly by way of explanation, with the same nonchalance that he’d displayed after that ‘slip’ in court. 

Blurting out information about his pilots  _ wasn’t _ accidental in any way. It’d been wholly on purpose — Prorok was a bad actor. Shiro couldn’t work out why the reps would choose such a strategy, but the disparate threads were coming together rapidly and the bigger picture of it sickened Shiro to the core.

“You don’t just  _ forget _ these kinds of things. You’re the reps for your firm. You should know better, and not try to set up your pilots as scapegoats,” said Shiro. Only Allura would recognise the venom that laced his otherwise innocuous words. 

Allura silenced Shiro with a look, then said, more calmly, “We could’ve avoided a disaster. We’re thinking of a way to remove some of the heat from your pilots—”

Sendak folded heavy arms over the conference table. “As far as you are concerned, the case is progressing as intended and is well within our margins of error.” 

Haxus tapped the glass with his nail. “Really, only one pilot needs ‘protecting’. And he certainly will be doing his part to make sure the company’s reputation is preserved, above all else.”

Allura set her hand on Shiro’s arm, a clear warning she wanted him to stay within his lines, but he couldn’t just sit back and let this blackmail happen. Hadn’t Keith already confessed that he didn’t know what caused the malfunction? He cared about his job and his colleagues. These stories marred the pilot’s reputation and soon there would be no company, teleporter or not, that would want to hire him.

“Shiro,” said Allura. 

He suddenly remembered where he was: in one of the meeting rooms of the Tellus Civil Court, hours before their next showdown in front of Judge Taujeer and a hundred frenzied journalists.

It seemed he’d been backed into a corner, but Shiro still had  _ one _ last choice left. He could still abandon this case and follow his gut, do what was  _ right, _ and tell Keith to book the hell out of here before any more shit hit the fan. The door was unlocked, Allura was going to see the case to its completion, and Keith was somewhere on the court premises… but what good would that do? 

One misstep would turn Keith into a criminal — and  _ that _ would turn the gossip into truth. 

“Something the matter, counsel?” asked Sendak from his seat at the head of the table.

Had he been played from the start?

“No,” he said bitterly. “We have work to do. Ms Bamera’s cross is coming up, and I want to make sure you know what to expect.”

 

-

 

Keith ambushed him in the hallway. “You  _ have _ to let me testify,” he growled so roughly that Shiro was forced to take a step back. 

He’d only ever seen the dulled-down version of Keith, a misused blunted knife. Now the bandages had come off and the biting edge of the blade was out and seeking blood, rendering all of Keith’s emotions bare.

“Keith—”

Keith pushed further into Shiro’s personal space, teeth gritted. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t  _ crash  _ the Teludav.”

“I know, Keith, but—”

“Look, I was going back to HQ to  _ report _ it. To get it  _ fixed. _ It was my Teludav, and there were people in it, obviously I didn’t  _ want _ it to fail—”

“Keith, you have to calm down—”

“I can’t!” 

Keith’s voice echoed down the hallway, attracting stares and hushed whispers. 

As if realising what he just did, Keith recoiled into himself again, his fists clenching by his sides in agitation. Shiro edged over to shield Keith’s slight body from unwanted eyes, waving to one of the officers on patrol.  _ It’s fine, I got this. _

“I’m sorry, Keith, I really am,” Shiro said more gently, “But there’s no reason to testify. Rolo can’t touch you, because his case is about Shay and the company, not you. I can’t let you go up there.”

“I have to. It’s my fight too, Shiro!” 

Keith looked up at him, gaze haunted by things Shiro would probably never understand. 

“Shiro, you have to let me speak. Let me be heard.”

Keith always seemed like someone who couldn’t comprehend emotions too well, someone who couldn’t make sense of them. At that very moment, staring at a gaze that promised to singlehandedly tear down the gates of hell, Shiro realised how off the mark he’d been. Keith didn’t just  _ know _ emotions. He knew them  _ intimately.  _ To Keith everything cut a little too deep, in places Shiro thought was impossible to hurt. 

Keith… Keith was the  _ feeling _ part of Shiro that had long been discarded in the vicious maw in the broken Teludav. Left behind without second thoughts so he could be ruthless, be detatched, be the strong and dependable counsel that every client needed him to be.

_ “Shiro,” _ Keith ground out.

Whatever expression Shiro was making now, it was making Keith’s crumple. 

“I’m sorry. But I can’t. If I put you on the stand, they’ll tear you to pieces.”

“No. I can defend myself. I just have to tell them the truth—”

“Patience yields focus,” Shiro cut in harshly, and something in his voice made Keith fall silent, “Lawyers like me are capable of doing horrible things to win.”

_ You’re staying for Ms. Balmera’s cross-examination, aren’t you? _

“If I didn’t care so much, I would’ve gotten you to testify immediately. But I… Please trust me, Keith. I’m doing everything I can. Teludav Inc., the company, they…”  _ they want to destroy you, _ Shiro wanted to say, but bit it back and said instead, “I just want to protect you.” 

Keith’s throat bobbed as he looked away, wrestling with demons only he could see. 

Finally, he nodded just once. This was the outcome Shiro wanted, but it hardly felt like a victory. More like a slap to the face. The last thing Shiro wanted was to force his own will upon Keith, but it was the only way Shiro knew how to keep him from harm’s way.

Enough. There were things to do. Shiro slipped out of his coat. “Take this. Nobody wears a biker suit to court.” 

“It’s my disguise,” grumbled Keith, but accepted the coat anyway. 

“Not a very good one. Well? Go on, wear it. Mm, it’s slightly oversized, but it’ll do. Go up the stairs and tell the marshals you’re with Shirogane. The press won’t be able to see you from the upper gallery.” 

Keith fumbled with the large buttons awkwardly. They made his fingers look so slender. “What are you going to do?”

“… You’ll see. Go. I need to get coffee for Allura and she doesn’t need to know this,” Shiro gestured between the both of them, “happened.”

A nod. Shiro turned to leave when Keith said, so softly that Shiro nearly didn’t hear, “Shiro, thanks.”

“For what?” he asked over his shoulder. 

“Letting me trust you.” A second passed before Keith shook himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and then fled up the stairs like a spooked cat.

Shiro stood there dumbly trying to grapple with what’d just happened, because for sure the morning’s four cups of caffeine was kicking in all at the same time and wow cardiac arrest actually felt pretty damn good, he might actually go for seconds.

_ You’re whipped, Shiro. So, so whipped. _

 

-

 

Shiro already knew Shay was soft-spoken, but while she was up there giving her testimony she looked lost and defenseless. She and Rolo were mismatched, Shiro thought. Rolo had played up the bravado so much that pretending — or appearing — to be empathetic was virtually impossible.

The young lady kept her hands in her lap and wrung her fingers subtly when she thought nobody was watching, and her eyes darted at every sound. 

Shiro knew those signs. In fact  _ he _ should’ve been the one to represent her. Wasn’t every day that a practicing attorney was there in a malfunctioning Teludav with you. Lawyers were crucial in allowing the judges and juries to feel what the victims felt. Being unable to know what Shay had gone through immediately put Rolo at a disadvantage.

And it meant that Shiro, in knowing the ins and outs of Shay’s predicaments, was to be her worst enemy in court. 

“Thank you for your testimony, Ms Balmera. We all are extremely sorry for what you’d endured, so let’s try to set things straight for the court.”

Shay kept her eyes downcast. 

“A few questions, Ms Balmera. I just wanted to clarify what you meant when you said that the company hadn’t prepared you enough for the commute. Could you elaborate?”

A hesitation and nervous glance at Rolo before she said, “Well, we are one moment lining up to enter the Teludav, and the next we are shepherded inside for transport. There are hardly warnings that sufficiently explain what is at stake.”

“They have a viciously tight schedule,” Shiro agreed.

“Surely that is no excuse. Is our safety not paramount to your company?”

“Well, there are safety announcements played before and after every commute. The ones that warn you to stay seated, stay calm, and stay relaxed.”

“As if that were possible during an emergency,” said Shay, voice hardening. “You of all people should know the difficulty of the task.”

Shiro smiled and shrugged. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’ll file a lawsuit for it.” 

“Your honor,” groaned Rolo.

Taujeer gave Shiro a curious look, but didn’t otherwise step in. 

“Let’s be civil, Ms Balmera. Didn’t the company give you a form to sign when you first came aboard with them?”

“Yes, I had been given a form to sign. I consented. However, I had been younger then. Like the many other commuters, I had not thought to read such dense language to the last page.”

“We’re only here to talk about you, Ms Balmera, not the other passengers.”

“Objection,” said Rolo. “The case is about the safety of passengers—”

Shiro cut in, “Our case is about Ms. Balmera and her suing for compensatory damages. Like I said in my opening statements, the responsibility and duty of care for Teludav Inc. is an issue beyond the purview of our case.”

“I have to side with you on this one, counsel,” Taujeer said while flipping idly through the court brief. “Mr Rolo, If you want to foul up Teludav Inc.’s reputation, get the hell out of my courtroom. Shirogane, continue.”

Rolo pursed his lips as Shiro turned back to Shay. Her knuckles were white.

“Back to the forms. It’s called the conditions of carriage. Did you read all of it?”

“No.” 

“Assuming you did read the version they presented to you on your first day, and if you found it too short or vague, did you know they might’ve provided you a full version as well? You could’ve requested it.”

“I had not known.”

“Really? Back then you must’ve known. It’s in the receptionist’s responsibility to inform every new passenger about it. Almost everyone turns it down. But the risks and warnings are right there in black and white.”

Shiro rattled off the case file again and paused for effect. The rustle of paper filled the room. 

“Teludav Inc. services three times more commutes than all the flights in the world combined. Passengers expect speed and professionalism. Hence why discussing risks and emergencies happens  _ before _ anything is signed, in the comfort of a safe room, rather than in the dark confines of a Teludav moments before commute. It’s how Teludav Inc. protects its passengers. Wouldn’t that make more sense?” 

Shay protested, “But that puts so many of us at risk!” 

“Yes. Let’s hear a little bit more about your experience so we can figure out how much you deserve to be compensated.”

A brief moment of terror passed Shay’s expression — one Shiro was loathe to recognise, but he’d seen it before in his own bathroom mirror when he fought back those dark memories he longed to forget.

Shiro took a moment to steel himself. This was his job. He had a duty to the company. Even if Keith was watching, there was no way he could squirrel out of doing this. Even if he’d dreaded this moment for months. 

_ Shiro, champion of the ring. _

“You talked about memory loss? Could you tell the court what that’s like?”

“My memory… it was scrambled. I lost… a full year of my life. I watched my grandmother recover from her illness, and my brother finally find a job he loved and could finally support my family. When I stepped out of that Teludav and learned it had all been a lie…” Shay tried to continue, but had to hide her face behind her handkerchief. “I-I’m sorry.” 

“So am I, Ms Balmera. To you, and also because I have to continue.”

_ Your words are like swords. _

“In your dream, Ms Balmera, what treatment had your grandmother received?”

Shay hiccuped with a mix of horror and indignation, “You doubt my testimony?—”

“And where did your brother work?”

“I cannot—”

“What about you? Did you keep your job? Where did you move? What about your—”

“I cannot remember! Do you not see the reason for my distress? I had thought that the people I loved most were finally having a better life, but they had not! I had  _ lived _ that year as if it was my own! And now I can barely eat or sleep, it is eating me up inside!”

(Those sleepless nights, those floaty daytimes, when any moment reality would slip away from him —) 

_ You seek out your victim’s weakest points. _

“So you’re just hankering after some fever dream.”

“It was no dream. It had  _ happened _ to me. I had seen it, felt it, worked for it like it was my own life. And it was!”

“Then you should be able to tell me the details. How much of it had changed?”

“Almost everything—”

“And yet no names? No details?”

Shay’s breath came short. “My brother had worked in an ore refinery, and, and he had been promoted, it was called Vir or Vox, or Von, or something to that extent—”

“Make up your mind, Ms Balmera.”

“I—”

“What position? Where was his workplace? The name of his boss?”

“W-Why do you probe for these details, Shirogane?”

_ You show no compassion, no mercy.  _

(Keith, whispering secrets he will no longer remember—)

“Because in all other cases pertaining to damages and trauma, there’s always a trigger for it. We have a starting point and an ending point with which to mete out consequences—”

“The trigger? It’s the Teludav!”

“We lack an ‘end point’, Ms Balmera. There is no way to corroborate or verify your statements. You can barely remember what happened to you. This testimony is worse than a criminal case with no alibi, or trying to sue with no evidence. Your words are all just conjecture to the court.”

“But it h-happened!” Shay clutched the railings of the witness stand. “You were in that Teludav, you know what I went through! O-… Out of everyone present, you m-must believe me!”

“Even if I was in that accident, I can’t believe you. I don’t know if what you’re telling us is the truth. There’s no way to prove that all this came from the Teludav. You could have made it up, and the court would be none the wiser.”

(Babe? He’d said, and Keith’s expression shattered because he knew, he knew just then, exactly what he’d done to Shiro.)

_ Victory or death. _

“You might be lying to the court.”

Tears flowed as Shay cried out, “I am not!”

Shiro stepped towards the witness stand.

“You make wild accusations without proof.”

Lowered his voice in warning.

“You have motive to claim damages for your struggling family.”

Came eye to eye with her, looked past her hate and sorrow, looked past all the days and months of her suffering.

“And in doing so you disparage my client and all its hardworking employees.”

And then he looked harder still so he could look beyond his own hurts reflected back at him.

(Thanks, Shiro. For letting me trust you.)

“I will not let someone like you make a mockery of this country’s legal proceedings or the integrity of my client’s reputation.”

 

-

 

A recess had to be called. Shay was escorted off the witness stand where she was ushered into a meeting room across from their courtroom. Rolo led the way, followed by Balmera’s family. Shiro couldn’t meet anyone’s gazes as they left. 

Allura nudged his shoulder. “You doing okay, big guy?”

Sweat matted his brow, and his right hand was shaking. His gut lurched. Shoving the memories of those last few minutes into the corner where other similar experiences lurked, he squared his shoulders and smiled.

“Just forced a fellow victim into a bout of PTSD, triggered my own, am trying not to regurgitate yesterday’s dinner,  _ and _ now will never shake off that damn  _ Champion _ title for as long as I live? Yep, definitely, I’m doing swell.”

“So I’ll have that case report in by 2359?”

“Allura! Come  _ on.” _

The slave worker in question shook her head fondly and Shiro fought the urge to plant his face onto the table. Still, even though the cross had been brutal like he’d expected (alright, it actually was more than enough to permanently raise his blood pressure), things were going their way. Sans Prorok’s small ‘mishap’, the plan was still relatively foolproof. And right now, there was a strong chance they’d win.

The job would soon be off their hands, and then he could decide how best to help Keith avoid the impending fallout from the case. 

Didn’t mean it felt good, though. Shiro was used to fighting for the little guy. Being the weapon of what felt like a huge evil empire was awful. And because court cases worked based on proceedings, he’d just set the groundwork for future Teludav wins, and taken away the power from smaller clients who couldn’t afford experienced lawyers.

“People like us become monsters so we can protect those who are human.” 

Shiro turned to Allura sharply. She sat staring straight ahead, fingers gently interlinked. 

Her voice was soft.

“A wise guy once told me that. He was a real smartass, but he had a heart of gold. And a sense of gallows humour that made me want to punch him in the face.”

“Your punches always bruise,” protested Shiro.

“A-ny-way, it was my first cross, and I was terrified. I’d never crossed before, much less one without my father behind me. So Mr. Heart Of Gold decided to impart some unsolicited advice.” 

She glanced sidelong at him. 

“But it helped me realise… the people we’re protecting? They’re relying on us. They hope, because we’re here. Because they have nobody else.” 

Shiro thought about Keith, about Lance, about Matt and Samuel.

How Keith could’ve gone on that stand, and Shiro would’ve been helpless as Keith flung himself at a heartless lawyer’s barbs in vain, then get taken apart statement by statement in front of bored judges and selfish businessmen and the hungry lenses of ruthless cameras.

“Whatever happens, you’re not a monster, Shiro. Because if you were a monster, that would make me one too, and we both know I’m actually a queen of another race from somewhere on the dark side of the galaxy.”

Shiro snorted. “Wow, thanks.” 

“No problem!” She nudged him harder, so hard that Shiro nearly fell off his seat. “Now chin up. And stop sulking. It’s contagious.”

 

-

 

After one last bout of summaries, court adjourned for the day. Taujeer sternly warned them to, for the love of god and everyone’s sanity, cut out the awful trickery and mind games. As if lawyering wasn’t already a roulette of hidden spurs and fanged smiles. He didn’t meet Shiro’s gaze once, which Shiro found mildly amusing but also what on earth were the rumours that would spread next? 

Of the three Teludav reps only Sendak was present to watch the day’s proceedings and he only had a brief “Good work” for them before he melted into the crowd and disappeared.

Which left Shiro and Allura to face the pilot marching down the hall still wearing Shiro’s coat—

Oh hell, Allura wasn’t even — well alright, it was just Shiro now.

Keith stopped abruptly in front of him, mouth twitching slightly as if holding back a billion things he wanted to say.

“Keith,” said Shiro, when Keith just stared.

The pilot inhaled so deeply his shoulders rose. 

“Coffee?” said Keith.

Shiro blinked. “I’m sorry, I’m running on two hours of sleep over four days, I think I must have misheard?”

_ Idiot, _ said Keith’s expression and a tap of his foot, even as Keith raised his voice, “Do, you, want, to, get, coffee?”

Oh, thought Shiro. His brain had begun approaching the speed of a snail’s crawl.

“Now?” 

“No,” Keith said slowly with a raised eyebrow, “A year and a week later, at the rise of the full moon.”

Shiro dug in his pockets for his phone. “Wait, I need to check if I’m available—”

The silence stretched and his cell was still nowhere in sight. Until he finally remembered he was talking to another human being and looked up to see Keith holding out a phone —  _ Shiro’s _ phone — with that damningly smug upward twitch of his lips.

“You left it in your coat pocket. And no, Mr. Slowpoke, I was teasing about next year. So, coffee, now.” Keith pushed the phone at him and mumbled, “I mean, only if you’re free. For coffee now.”

There was a stack of documents beside his desk and it was quickly reaching his waist, while another pile was overflowing onto the floor, there was a meeting scheduled before dinner and a full length in depth case analysis report due tomorrow at 18:00 but  _ Fuck it, _ he thought,  _ I have been in love with versions of this guy for too many years. _ So he just reached out to pluck his phone from Keith’s grasp and said, somewhat breathlessly, 

“You had me at coffee.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Evening was falling as they made it to _Khlaizap Khaffeine,_ a small cafe staffed by a local family. Keith was tackled around the waist by a squishy child. Shiro, watching them, realised two things: first, that height _had_ to run in the genes, and two, that Keith didn’t like hugs. Poor guy just stood rigidly there and took it with a longsuffering silent groan.

When it was Shiro’s turn to be approachable he hugged back as best as he could. “Hey there, little buddy.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” boomed the person he was hugging, who was not in fact a child, but was the manager of the shop as evident from his nametag.

Calling the manager “little buddy” in full view of Keith, who was visibly resisting himself from laughing? Could Shiro that heart attack pronto, please.

Keith ordered coffees for them both, Shiro wanted his black like his soul and Keith wanted his twice darker. Then they settled down in a booth seat beside the window.

“Thought you might need a drink,” said Keith. Now that they were a distance away from the courthouse Keith had returned Shiro’s coat. Shiro hadn’t noticed before, but Keith’s leather jacket had been lovingly mended many times.

“I definitely needed a drink. Allura and I were supposed to get wasted later,” confessed Shiro. “Not my idea.”

In reply, Keith just smirked. That, or maybe it was just the caffeine, was doing strange things to Shiro’s heart (he hoped it wasn’t the caffeine).

“Anyway, I need to apologise for what you saw in court today,” said Shiro sheepishly. “I promise I’m not a jerk.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I know, Shiro. Which is why I’m here now. Wanted to thank you.”

“Spare me. A lawyer’s dirty work never ends.”

“Yeah. Well, if it’s any consolation, I know how that feels.”

Keith leaned forward to stare into his cup, and Shiro turned the new information in his mind. The pilot had definitely seen his share of Teludav mishaps, but that didn’t make it dirty work. Not unless Keith had seen more than he let on.

“You… do?”

Keith looked up curiously. “Yeah,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “We’re lying all the time too. Like the safety harness. It does nothing. _Nothing._ Spacetime doesn’t check to see if you’ve shut the harness properly. It’s kinda like putting on a seatbelt to stop yourself drowning.”

“Oh,” said Shiro, feeling sick.

“Uh, I didn’t mean it _that_ way!” Keith protested. “Argh, I’m so bad with words. I just meant that we have to lie to help people like you feel better so you can get to where you want to go.”

“And what other… things… do you lie about?” asked Shiro cautiously.

Keith hesitated. “Uh…”

“Wait, nevermind! I’d rather not know!” Shiro threw his arms up and folded them with a dramatic huff, and Keith laughed with those violet eyes. “Pick your favorite knife and end my suffering, please and thank you.”

“Oh, stop it,” Keith huffed back.

Shiro bit back a smile.

But there were more pressing things at hand. With the little… _stunt_ he pulled in court, there was no telling what would be splashing the front pages tomorrow. And now he was in a cafe, with the pilot, away from prying eyes. There was no better time.

Keith _needed_ to know about Teludav Inc.’s plan to screw him over. And Shiro needed to tell him. Today.

“Look, Keith, I know this is a mood breaker, but I need to know if you’re still staying as a pilot for Teludav Inc.”

The pilot stayed quiett for a moment, studying him. “Is something wrong?”

Belatedly, Shiro realised that closing statements hadn’t been made, and the verdict of the case hadn’t been released yet.

“Listen, Keith, I…” _There was no time. Keith deserved to know._ “I can’t confirm anything now, but things could go south very hard and very fast if you stayed as their pilot.”

Keith straightened with a mix of suspicion and horror.

“I’m not criticizing your piloting skills or implying that you’re not fit to ferry other people. But I’ve worked with some of the leaders of the company and—”

Keith held up a hand and Shiro fell silent. The storm behind Keith’s irises had returned, and it was now Shiro realised it had never really left. Perhaps Keith had known this for ages now, or perhaps he’d been expecting something like this all along, but he seemed prepared to deal with whatever was coming.

The pilot tried a weak smile, and it came out frayed.

“Thanks, Shiro, but… This job is just, it’s more than just a job to me, that’s all.”

Keith drew breath as if it pained him.

“You know how when you step into an elevator, there’s a gap between the lift and the landing? Being able to watch the those in-betweens, and how it holds the outsides and the insides in place, you know? That’s what this job feels like to me.”

Shiro nodded, not understanding.

“And… and I just want to know what’s in _there,_ when you’re in those ten minutes, and you’re nowhere but also everywhere. Where everything’s quiet, and you can only hear the world, like it’s breathing. The in-between space, Shiro, it’s nothing like you’ve ever seen. It’s supposed to be empty. But you can sense there’s so much more.” His voice hardened. “I need to keep it safe. All of it.”

Safe? Did it _need_ to be kept safe?

Keith looked up and for just a split second Shiro thought he saw a flicker of those same beautiful, living stars, twirling in the bottomless depths of Keith’s eyes.

“I think people were always meant to explore unknown things like that. Right? Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, pouring my heart out to you.”

A chill ran down Shiro’s skin.

Keith smiled, small and shy, before he ducked his head. “Maybe someday when I feel like having revenge with my ice cream, I’ll tell you more about the Teludav managers.”

“Can’t wait,” Shiro said.

His head was spinning, but there were only planets and comets ringing to the tune of Keith’s stately words.

 

-

 

117 Loamvale Street turned out to be more pleasant than Shiro expected. The dulled paint and flaking railings of the four-storey apartment made it indistinguishable from its neighbours. Still, for an apartment fifteen minutes’ walk away from Tellus District Court, it was decently priced and, most importantly, available for rent.

Shiro followed the landlady up the stairs, languishing under his heavy suitcases and backpack while she, bless her aged wrinkled heart, inched up the stairs at a sloth’s pace. After thorough instructions about gas, water, pets and guests, the keys were relinquished (the accidental brush of their hands seemed too deliberate, which mortified him) and Shiro finally stumbled into his new home. He was sweaty, exhausted, but immensely relieved to be alone.

Finally in unit #98 he dumped his suitcases and collapsed backwards onto the floor. Since he was little, he would do this to christen each new house they moved to. With closed eyes and long, slow breaths, he would listen to the house move, each _tk_ of pipes and _crrk_ of wooden floorboards, or learn the weights of his neighbours as they moved around above and below.

That’s right. The space around him almost seemed to be alive. Unbidden, Keith’s words sprung to mind. _You can sense there’s so much more._ Spacetime was hardly a creaky secondhand apartment with walls stained by cigarette smoke and foundations that shook with passing trucks, but he’d like to believe he was coming close to understanding what Keith had described.

Keith. Who’d known that the pilot would be the gateway to a pandora’s box Shiro was now paid to close? And not to mention, Keith was an enigma all of his own. After their coffees in _Khlaizap’s_ they’d talked into the night about — about what? Shiro only remembered snatches of that conversation. Like Shiro confessing that he never wanted to step into a Teludav again and Keith giving him a strangely pensive look, and how when Shiro let loose a punnet’s worth of puns punctuated with more punishing puns Keith threw back his head and half-groaned, half-howled so loud that Shiro thought he’d been permanently broken.

“Why’re you smiling?”

Opening his eyes, Shiro saw

Keith

right there

standing over him.

With a scream loud enough to wake the dead (he’d need it, the next two of his reincarnations were probably already eviscerated) Shiro scrambled backwards and pressed up against the wall. Keith tilted his head, smirking, amused.

What. In actual. Hell.

“You… you’re in my house,” croaked Shiro.

The time on his watch read 18:49, perfectly legible. Precise. _Real._

“I led him here and let him in.” Allura clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder, grinning ear to ear.

Keith tossed the keys at him. “Next time, lock your door.”

Tired and sleep deprived, it took a monumental effort to swipe at the keys and in the end Shiro still dropped them. He must’ve left them hanging in the keyhole.

“I save your keys and not even a thank you?” teased Keith, claiming a perch on one of Shiro’s suitcases. After many coffee dates before and after work, Shiro had gradually come to recognise Keith’s playful edge when it surfaced, which meant Keith was in a good mood and there might be more where that came from.

“You make him tongue tied,” Allura singsonged as she busied herself in the kitchenette. “Seriously, Shiro, does this kitchen only have one socket?”

“Uh, thank y — Keith, no, I have books in that, wait, _what,_ Allura,” Shiro scrambled over to her urgently, “Wait, why do you need a socket? My stuff is only coming tomorrow —”

“I _know,_ Shiro. But tradition is tradition. Look, I even brought a kettle! It’s my housewarming gift, big guy.” She rapped Shiro’s chest with the back of her knuckles before flicking the switch on.

“Allur—Ow!”

“What tradition?” called Keith from the hallway.

“It’s what we do to break in the house. We did that to the office too, the first time we settled in. Leave it to some good old instant coffee.”

“Ew,” smiled Keith from where he’d come up behind Shiro and Shiro jumped.

“Keith—”

“Ew yourself, young man! Caffeine is caffeine, deserving of love whatever its form. You have much to learn.” Allura pushed the window open and made a face at her dusty fingers. “Gods, how long hasn’t this place been cleaned?”

“This is why I told you to only come tomorrow. Especially when _guests_ are invited.” Shiro glanced at Keith, who was poking around the yet to be filled counter drawers.

“The guest brought his own drink,” said Keith without looking up.

Shiro and Allura paused fumbling with the kettle and stared. Shiro was going through his mental catalogue of juice, wondering which was to be the flavour of the day.

Anticlimactically, Keith clicked his tongue and said, “There’s a dead bug in here.”

 _“Okay,_ I’m done here.” Allura dumped the kettle and headed into the living room. Shiro grumbled and put the water on. Thanks for nothing, Allura.

“Is there really a bug — okay, Keith, put that down.”

“What?” Keith turned, holding the dried beetle by the leg. He was wearing one of those mischievous grins again but no, no, _no,_ that didn’t make things better, and now Keith was—

“Keith, what are you doing.”

“Nothing.” Keith tilted his head innocently as he murmured “What, this?” and took another step forward.

Shiro edged away. “Keith, put that back or so help me.”

“What’s wrong! You should take a closer look! It’s purple from one angle and red from another—”

_“Keith!”_

Keith let out several sharp exhales, lips curling back to reveal perfect teeth. Oh, Keith was laughing.

“L-La…” Damn it Shiro, defend yourself! “Last chance, Keith.”

“Or what?” Keith smirked. Another step.

Shiro stumbled back and Keith closed the difference between them, his smirk splitting into something devilish. This was not good. Grabbing the nearest thing he could find (a book on forensic psychology — okay, nevermind, he’d have to settle for a magazine) Shiro held it in front of him like a shield as he backed into the living room.

“What are you two doing,” deadpanned one sprawled-over-the-couch Allura.

“He—!” Shiro jabbed the magazine at Keith.

Making use of the momentary distraction, Keith flung the beetle at him.

That round, iridescent body soared and hung suspended as if in slow motion, and Shiro saw its beady eyes and each hairy leg — and behind it: Keith, with a grin wild, untamed, so childlike that the sight caught Shiro by surprise.

There was hardly any moment to react.

So that was how Shiro’s two best friends broke into howling laughter as the neighbour downstairs pounded on the ceiling, and there was nothing else on his mind except

_Wow, I must be the luckiest man in the world._

which was completely and utterly untrue, because he ended up with a mouthful of dried beetle.

Several cups of mouthwash later Allura stepped outside to answer a call, leaving Shiro by the sink trying to figure out, slightly belatedly, if the tap dispensed hot water so he could make good on Allura’s instant coffee ‘tradition’ to rinse out the taste of insect carcass and mouthwash.

“Anyway, I brought you something.”

At the voice, Shiro rubbed his cheeks and schooled himself (no, fifteen year old Shiro, bad boy, _down,_ back into your corner) before turning around. A bottle of half-drunk vodka had appeared on the table, along with three creased plastic cups, and Keith was gently fishing out something from his haversack.

“It wouldn’t be an apology gift for feeding me the beetle, would it?”

“You wish!” Keith grinned, then ducked his head. “It’s more like… a thank you, I guess. And a housewarming present. So it’s a thank-you-housewarming present. I hope you like it.”

The gift sat gently between Keith’s palms. Now that Shiro could take a closer look he made out… a porcelain pot, white, almost-spherical. Two waxy leaves had pushed out of the damp soil within. The entire thing was wrapped skillfully in clear cellophane plastic, with a red ribbon holding the edges together.

“I don’t know what plant it is. I saw a seed in the Teludav, after one of my commutes…” he held the pot out, embarrassed.

Shiro accepted it and unwrapped the pot carefully. It was a lot lighter than it looked.

“You collect the seeds you find?”

“Kinda. Otherwise it doesn’t grow.” His foot scuffed the floor. “I, I just thought to give it a chance.”

The pot and its fragile seedling looked perfectly at home on the windowsill. Even though it was tiny, the small green leaves lit up the room. A fragment of life against the dreary buildings beyond.

Keith giving him a young plant he didn’t know the make of — it surprised Shiro, but at the same time it seemed perfectly like Keith to do something like that. Shiro smiled at the plant, then at Keith. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Keith stuck his hands in his pockets.

“A better gift than a kettle,” teased Shiro, louder than necessary.

“I heard that!” came Allura’s muffled voice from outside.

Keith let out one of his huffing laughs.

“But seriously, Keith. Thank you. It means… more than I can tell you.”

Just subtly, Keith’s eyebrow lifted. _I know that._ Shiro was about to explain more (what was he even doing being cryptic like that) when Keith went on, “It’s okay. I’m learning so much from you, I guess, like… like doing what’s right, even though it’s hard.”

What? _What?_ It wasn’t a confession by far but the simple words sure felt like it. Shiro recognised the beginnings of that dumb smile, the flit of butterfly wings against his gut, _wow,_ he’d not only gotten Keith’s trust but now the pilot was opening up to him as if they were friends of old. This was so much to take in.

_Shut up, Shiro. You’re having a decent human conversation here._

Suddenly self-conscious, Keith gave Shiro another of his slight smiles and Shiro’s heart leaped.

“Yeah,” Shiro finally found his tongue to say, “I guess doing the right thing can be worth it, huh.”


	9. Chapter 9

Central Tellus was something else after sunset. The spires of sleek concrete and glimmering steel by day glowed as if lit from the inside by stars. A faint drizzle hung a faint veil of fog from off the tallest buildings and altogether it was quite enough to trick you into thinking that the city was actually magical.

_(The time read 23:40.)_

Since Allura booked it early (thanks for nothing yet again, Allura), Shiro had Keith all to himself as he walked Keith to the station. The angry, broody, anger-prone lone wolf was nothing like his namesake. Perhaps years ago it might’ve rung true, but it seemed like somewhere along the line Keith’s fire had wilted under the onslaught of unforgiving judgement and apathy.

In fact it didn’t take much for those charred embers to reignite. With a little probing and genuine honesty Keith had bloomed. His fire had been starved and Shiro was but a slip of paper hungrily consumed.

Keith was gesturing, in the middle of telling a joke. Back in his lucky red jacket, he was a cheerful splotch of color in contrast to Shiro’s dull coat and the grey buildings all round.

“So I tell her, _Lady, could you not feed your baby,_ and then she just… does it. Takes out the bottle and powder and everything, and I’m standing there thinking, this Teludav needs to leave in 50 seconds, and I don’t know if the baby needs to burp or poo or pee or whether it’ll affect my piloting —”

“You have absolutely _no_ clue,” said Shiro, laughing.

“Do I look like someone who enjoys playing with small meaty gremlins?” Keith rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder against Shiro’s ribs. They were sharp shoulders, and they hurt.

“Ow,” said Shiro, and Keith gave him a look that said, _Stop being dramatic,_ even though his smile said he loved it.

“So, right, I just move to strap the mom in, and the baby freaks out—”

“No, _no,_ the baby knocks the bottle over?”

“She _flung_ it!” fumed Keith. “At someone else!”

“Oh _no.”_

“Yeah, yeah, and I somehow manage to grab it before it spills onto the others, thank god, but I’m unbalanced right, so I push the safety lever down… and the mom drops the baby.”

“And you caught her.”

“Obviously. But…” Keith ruffles his own hair in exasperation at the memory. “Ugh. See, all this time the baby’s _screaming._ And my manager’s yelling in my headpiece because we’re late, so—”

“No,” gasped Shiro, “Tell me you didn’t.”

Keith looked up with the smile of the underpaid and underappreciated.

“I did. I absolutely I piloted the Teludav with a baby in one hand while feeding her milk. And I didn’t even get a medal.”

Any further reaction was cut short by a sudden _roar_ as the drizzle suddenly turned to a downpour. While Shiro’s immediate reaction was to yelp, as if the sound could command the clouds to dry, Keith’s hand found Shiro’s wrist immediately as he tugged them to the nearest building. Sheltered by the bust of a lion caught mid roar, they broke into hysterics and tried to brush water off themselves (and each other) without any stray elbow jabs (Shiro received a few, though he wasn’t sure if it was all that accidental.)

“We should wait for the rain to lighten,” said Shiro, trying to judge the distance to the train station. It was probably a minute’s run, though it’d take half that time to be properly drenched. But Keith needed to catch a Teludav home, so they’d end up getting soaked no matter what—

“Shiro,” Keith said abruptly.

Shiro looked down to see Keith’s fingers curled around the hem of his dark coat. The pilot’s gaze was shadowed by whatever it was that he struggled to say, and Shiro knew that in times like these, all he could do was wait. Times like these people were at their most breakable. Hopefully whatever was on Keith’s mind, it would distract him from hearing Shiro’s heart gradually beginning to pound.

Finally Keith sighed. He picked at a stray thread with his nail. “All this, I… You know, when I got recruited as a Teludav pilot, I never knew I’d need to make such sacrifices. Back then…” his brows furrowed. “Back then, in the Garrison, working for the Teludav was just a way out of there.”

Shiro kept silent. letting Keith work through those bittersweet memories at his own pace.

Shiro wasn’t sure what sparked it, but slowly, haltingly, Keith began to trace what led him to where he was. Like most of the ordinary pilots, he flunked out of high school and landed himself in the Garrison. They weren’t there because they had big dreams, or because they wanted to explore space. The Garrison was the last safety net between them and the merciless employed world beyond.

But Keith had what many others didn’t: A fighting spirit, unparalleled skill in most aviation machines, and a track record so marred they wanted him out. So when Teludav Inc. approached them, they took the best and the brightest — and Keith, because he’d given the sergeants and officers enough headaches that they wanted him seconded to the grasps of the free market.

“The hard part about the Garrison wasn’t the flying. Flying was easy.” Keith’s lip curled. “In there, they know we’re dirt. It’s not like college, when they believe you’re… destined for greatness, or whatever. Garrison pilots are there because they can’t go anywhere else.”

“Hence the revenge on Garrison equipment?” teased Shiro.

Keith shook his head exaggeratedly, spraying water everywhere. “Hey, I was young and, well, hormones, or whatever. Plus when he’s _really_ mad Major Ryu has some of the most incredible swears you’ll ever hear.”

Apparently life in Teludav Inc. was immediately several leagues up from the Garrison. It was a haven without guard duty, cleaning duty, cooking duty, detention, and they actually had an hour for lunch. A _whole_ hour!

As the pioneering batch of pilots to the new technologies of mass transport, delinquent Keith and his no-hope colleagues were hailed as heroes. The badge and uniform were a mark of highest honour and sacrifice, for the first few who dared to push the limits of travel. Shiro realised with a slight pang that he’d actually dreamed about this, back in the Teludav — _maybe the machine missed those bygone years too,_ said a stray and wholly illogical thought from his overly romantic side and Shiro knew better but that didn’t stop him from feeling the loss of it like his own.

“But I could see it happening, Shiro. The company was changing, and…” Keith exhaled sharply and before Shiro could even react, Keith’s weight was leaning into him and that dark hair resting against his shoulder.

Shiro reached around and wrapped his arm around Keith’s slight shoulders, giving a firm squeeze to let Keith know he wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t ask for… the rest of this, you know? All I wanted to do was to know how things were in those ten minutes. The ten minute commute, where you’re not here or there. Or anywhere. Just ten minutes of null.”

“Why?” asked Shiro softly.

Keith looked at him like he was insane.

“Wouldn’t you feel the same?” he finally asked, amusement tugging his lip up a fraction. “Bet if you joined the Garrison, you’d be first to set foot on Kerberos.”

Shiro laughed. “Sure, in another lifetime where I’m not chasing after my own marbles all the time, I might’ve. There’s something poetic about it.”

They paused to contemplate the falling rain, and Shiro finally decided that as much as those memories hurt, perhaps they'd be of some use to this pilot. To chase away the feelings of being unloved and unwanted.

“Keith, I never told you what I saw in the Teludav, did I? Well, it was mainly of you."

Keith met his gaze, shy and unsure.

"You were… so great.  _Ace Pilot of Teludav Inc."_ Shiro waved his hand in a dramatic arc and Keith bit back a smile, even despite himself. "And everyone believed in you."

_Especially me._

"You were everyone's guiding light, Keith. You were so sure that everything was going to be fine, that you made everything feel like it was exactly like it was meant to be."

Ignoring his burning cheeks, Shiro watched as something warm spread slowly across Keith's expression. It was a lovely sight. 

“Yes… that’s it. Thank you, Shiro.” Something seemed to click, and Keith huffed-laughed, expression soft. “We should get going.”

Shiro blinked down at his watch. It was two minutes to midnight, and Keith needed to catch the Teludav home.

He shrugged out of his coat again and Keith raised an eyebrow, to which Shiro gave no answer except to hold up his coat over them both with a grin.

“What? I didn’t bring my umbrella, so this is the next best thing.”

Keith snorted. That wild glint was back in his eyes.

And that was all the indication he got before Keith was sprinting away from him in the direction of the station, a bright grin tossed over his shoulder, _Come on, Shiro, where’s that chivalry you were showing me?_

Obviously, Shiro only had one option: get drenched or get dunked on.

They tore down the streets, through the pouring rain, past the glowing lampposts, so heedlessly that Shiro found himself relishing the thrill. He’d forgotten how it felt to leave his worries and facades behind. All that mattered was keeping his footing on slippery ground, hell his suit was going to be ruined but who cared? Not he.

“Keith!”

A laugh burst from Shiro’s lips to be lost to the thunder of water all around. Keith was a dark silhouette leading him on, each movement sure and true, and whenever Keith turned back to see if Shiro was still chasing there was always a flash of something deeply liberating in his gaze.

It was at the steps to the grand Central Station that Shiro finally caught up — or maybe Keith had slowed down for him, he couldn’t really be sure — but Shiro didn’t need to think twice. He reached out and snared Keith’s thin wrist in his grip, and with the other plopped the wet coat over Keith’s head. The pilot yelled and Shiro gave the lump a fierce ruffle. “You’ll catch cold.”

“With this I definitely will!” Keith pulled off the coat and his eyes widened.

They were standing so close, Shiro realised just as belatedly as Keith did, panting into each other’s air and stealing each other’s body heat.

_So close._

Shiro wanted this (what? What did he want, he wasn’t even sure), but he couldn’t risk jeopardising Keith in the midst of a case, and what if he scared Keith off forever? The circumstances that led up to this moment were once in a lifetime and there was no way he could win back Keith’s trust if he—

In a move that was more uncoordinated convulsion than anything, Shiro forced some distance between them and tried to remember how to breathe.

Behind him, Keith was laughing breathlessly. He turned to see Keith hiding his face behind the soggy jacket, but his eyes were smiling. “Oh, Takashi.”

He flung the wet jacket back at Shiro and it draped wetly over his shoulder.

“Come on, dumbass. I’m going to be late.”

“R-Right,” said Shiro, hurrying to catch up. There was a lock of hair sticking out of Keith’s mullet. Imagine if he could run fingers through it, and smooth it down—

Man, this was too much. He was going to need some straight gin later.

 

-

 

“I’m flying again tomorrow.”

Keith broke the news like he’d been expecting it for years, but Shiro nearly dropped his muffin and his heart was sinking like a stone.

“F… flying?”

“Piloting. My Teludav.” Keith explained, as patiently as could be considered _patient_ for Keith.

Today Arus & Lions was scheduled to sum up the case with closing statements. As usual, Allura was wise beyond her silver-haired years and had warned Shiro that meeting Keith before the court case was probably a bad idea.

As usual, Allura was right.

Shiro wanted to object to Keith going back to work, but Keith had the steely determination of someone riding a one-way train ride to hell and there would be no convincing him out of it. Moreover the case hadn’t properly ended yet. If Keith was found to still be piloting while Teludav Inc. turned out guilty… things could go horrifically, not only for the company, but for _Keith._ The journalists were already lurking around every corner, buzzards that they were, and they would sniff out a tragedy from miles away.

At the same time… Shiro knew Keith missed his Teludav. He’d catch Keith staring out the window during their morning coffee runs, gaze faraway, longing, pining, aching after that irreplaceable caress from whatever lay beyond the reach of natural law.

Why oh why, why, _why_ did Keith have to fall in love with the _null?_

“Is there really no way I can persuade you to… put it off? Or something? Maybe the engineers can look into it—”

Keith’s expression grew pained, his gloved hands gripping the cup more tightly.

Shiro sighed and set down his the remnants of his muffin unsuccessfully. It broke apart and the crumbs scattered across the table. He clicked his tongue at it, then refocused on Keith.

“No, I… I understand. It’s what you love. Just…” Shiro reached over and folded his hand over Keith’s. “Be careful out there, okay?”

The words must’ve been what Keith needed all along, because he deflated in so much sheer relief Shiro feared Keith would evaporate.

“Thanks,” smiled Keith. _(By god.)_ “And you… good luck in court.”

“Hey… Keith? See you later, after it’s all over?”

The pilot nodded firmly, surely.

“See you, Takashi.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Thursday, 19 December 2019, 12:39 PM.

“As it stands, your honour, prosecution believes that Teludav Inc. has failed to prove several things. One, that agreeing to the conditions of carriage is sufficient to waive all responsibility on its part. Two, that Ms Balmera’s trauma and memory loss is not directly caused by one of the pilots, or one of the Teludavs, and that means they are exempt from taking any responsibility at all.

“We cannot allow the company to shift all responsibility onto its passengers. Teludav Inc. must be announced guilty. It needs to show the rest of its passengers — the rest of _us_ — that it’s willing to protect us when something goes wrong. The common man is not a stepping stone to worldwide profits and you, your honour, must help to send that message.”

Shiro and Allura watched impassively as Rolo finished his closing statements and returned to his seat. The lawyer looked a little more on edge than usual. Perhaps it was just a case of bad nerves, or a sign his confident facade was finally cracking.

Either way, this made things easier for Arus & Lions. Having just re-established the bare minimum of the case facts, Rolo’s closing had been lacklustre at best.

Now, it was Allura’s turn to show him how it should be done. Shiro patted her hand for encouragement and she rose gracefully to begin.

“This case has never been about us. This case was about the victim: Shay Balmera.”

A cold gaze up at the judge.

“When we took on this case, we were prepared to explore thoroughly the extent of Ms. Balmera’s distress. We were ready to unpack how exactly she was made victim, and who should be responsible. Unfortunately, prosecution has turned this into a journalist’s wet dream. How does sensationalising the fault of one pilot and the oversight of the company justify the uproar this has created?

“Teludav Inc. has been clear about its stance from the start. We plead not guilty, because ultimately we need to make sure people get to work, that kids get to school, that the rest of the world can still function as best as possible. Teludav Inc. is filled with people who looked at the countless lives lost to traffic accidents, turned to the alternative, and decided that it was worth chasing.

“Up until now prosecution's case has been a mess, holding ungrounded accusations on one hand and then demanding compensatory damages on the other. You saw the evidence, Ms Balmera has signed the conditions of carriage. Of course any reasonable company would assume she knew the risks before starting her transit.

“Negligence is more than just a lack of care. Sure Teludav Inc. had a legal responsibility to ensure this care, but it had been done to the best of its abilities. Just ask any pilot. Moreover, none of the damages incurred were the specific faults of any pilots — or at least, none proven here in court across these months.

“Most importantly, Teludav Inc. cannot be responsible for the wellbeing of people losing the lives they never lived. Because that, your honour, insults the pilots giving their lives to traverse the dangerous edge of space and time, even a pilot like Keith Kogane.

“I don’t know about you, but I think declaring Teludav Inc. guilty of these charges will be downright disrespectful to a company that has only humanity’s future at its heart.”

 

-

 

Beyond the courtroom doors lay a sea of camera flashes and incoherent shouting. Times like these Shiro was thankful he kept up with gym through booze, late nights, and the entirety of law school in his way. He shielded Allura from the rabble and with Sendak in tow they hurried over to a conference room and into safety.

Sendak perched at the head of the table. “Allura, Shirogane, I’m impressed with how this case has gone. You two demonstrated quick thinking and thorough understanding of Teludav Inc’s job scope without much guidance.”

“It was our pleasure,” said Allura, voice subtly frosted.

“Rest assured Teludav Inc. would be honoured to have Arus & Lions represent us again, god forbid, should there be a next time.” Sendak stood, then lumbered over to Allura. He was a head taller than her and his muscular torso made him look so much more foreboding, but Allura stared him down without a trace of hesitation.

Shiro loitered near the coffee machine, ready to spring into action should anything unsavory break out.

To Shiro’s surprise, Sendak merely extended a meaty hand. “I spoke to your father once. Briefly. He would be proud of you.”

After a beat, Allura settled for a gentle smile and allowed him to fold his fingers around hers. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Sendak.”

The man nodded, straightened his coat — evidently he hadn’t expected to stay for long — and left.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Allura massaged her temples and gave Shiro a look that said it all.

“Shiro,” she began, but Shiro only held up a hand.

He knew she was now properly convinced that they’d invoked Alfor’s name to drag her into this, and inevitably put Shiro to their yoke. After some exhausting digging Shiro managed to find some well-buried Teudav cases, orchestrated by someone who knew the law better than Shiro could ever hoped for, and who had some immense connections that spread like mould, to places that Shiro would never dream of. It was all a hunch, after all, since there was no concrete evidence to back it up, but the same names kept appearing and…

“Allura, whatever it is, I promise we’ll come out of it alive and kicking.” Shiro came over and held her shoulders tightly. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Allura, look at me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, knocking her insides back into their rightful places, carefully arranging everything to prop up the facade she’d built for herself. She always tried so hard, only god knew (well and Shiro too but only because he never slept) how hard she worked. Her heart was in the right place, but to survive in a profession like theirs, if you lost your heart you’d lose it all.

When Alfor died, Shiro thought Allura would’ve gone down that path. She’d gotten so lost in her own mind that he feared he’d never get her back, and that Arus & Lions would truly become Alfor’s legacy and remain only that.

But Allura was here now, wrestling with the truth and the circumstances that she had been so cruelly thrust into, and she was giving him the thankful smile he received after big favours like annotated minutes and extra coffees and hands on her shoulders to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“Thanks, Shiro,” she said softly.

When she looked up again, there was no trace left of that lost little girl who cried and begged Alfor to come home.

“Now come on. Let’s go have lunch. I’m famished, and I’m craving some of that coffee you told me about."

 

-

 

There was someone waiting for them at _Khlaizap Khaffeine,_ wearing a tearstained face and the knowledge of a case lost. It was a very specific look, not quite like a lamb being led to the slaughter, or someone waiting for death in the belly of a dying planet. It was something more akin to betrayal — like being left to die in a dark alley with knife wounds from a blade with her own name on it.

Shay Balmera. The courtroom made her look small. Now out of those grand halls, Shiro realised she wasn’t slight, but stocky. She sported a sister’s kind expression and the weight of a hard worker and although Shiro and Allura were the ones who put her in her predicament her gaze held no ill will.

Allura made as if to approach but Shiro stopped her.

This was a conversation he needed to have with her alone.

Shiro gestured to Allura to choose a seat while he headed over to Shay. She sunk back into her seat, troubled, visibly wondering if talking to the attorneys from the opposing house was a good idea.

“Shay,” Shiro began, pausing beside her seat. “May I?”

She nodded.

He slid into the booth seat across from her. The table was strewn with balled-up serviettes.

“Shay, let me begin by telling you I know what you’re feeling now.” Shay looked up, and Shiro nodded once before he continued, “I know how it’s like, being trapped on the wrong side of a case you wanted to win. I know an apology from me would mean little to you. And I know…”

He lowered his gaze, then held out his digital watch to match hers.

“I know how it’s like, being scared all the time. Having to impulsively read every word to make sure you’re still awake, and here, where everything’s real.”

Shay sagged against her seat, tears coming to her eyes. “I should hate you, Mr. Shirogane —”

“Please. Shiro will do.”

“Shiro. My brother Rax insists that I should hate you for what you have done to my family.” Shiro tried not to think about the legal fees, the inevitable press hounding, the slow and arduous shift back to outdated transport. “But I just cannot bring myself to. You are a victim of your circumstances, as am I. And although Rax believes you to be a monster, I want to believe…”

Shiro swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Please,” she said hoarsely. “Every night I lie in bed too fearful to fall asleep. I fear the mere thought of never knowing if I am still my own. I want someone to be able to tell me, _I am sorry for your loss,_ and give me faith that they will change my situation for the better. I just want someone to make it better.”

“You won’t find that person in Teludav Inc.,” said Shiro softly.

Shay hung her head, hands curling into fists.

“I’m sorry. I really, truly am,” Shiro said. “If you do find a person like that, I would be glad to put my faith in them too.”

He stood. He couldn’t stay here much longer without his insides crumbling. Another wet dot appeared on the table where Shay remained hunched over.

“Get some food inside you. Order anything you want. I’ll pay.”

 

-

 

Discretely, they watched Shay leave. Her table had remained empty and nothing had been charged to their bill, not even for a glass of water.

Allura leaned back against the seat. “Poor girl. She’s so young. Rolo should’ve stayed with her.”

It was the decent thing to do. On the tail end of seemingly hopeless cases, the loss of control and the inevitability of failure would send clients acting out on their own accord. A lawyer accompaniment was not only a voice of reason, but also the much-needed grounding force to pull them from their thoughts and back into the world of the existing.

“I’m beginning to think he won’t,” said Shiro after a slight hesitation.

“Does this have anything to do with his substandard closing? He and his friend Nyma had quite a reputation back in the day.”

They did. They were like scavengers, those two, picking the cases the big boys passed over. Where they went, the money was.

Which meant they were only in it to win. Rolo and Nyma were still somewhat novices in the circuit but their viciously self-preserving patterns were blatant if not already nortorious.

“There’s no way they would take a case against Teludav Inc. I… ah, I don’t know.” Shiro buried his face in his hands. “I was surprised to see them here too. For a moment I thought I was in the wrong courtroom.”

“What, does a big case like this mean the pickings are slim?” Allura raised an eyebrow.

“Against two ‘fearsome’ lawyers like us?” Shiro mock preened. “Yes.”

Allura scoffed. “Get that idea out of your skull, Shiro. The case isn’t over yet.”

“It’s not about whether we win. Rolo and Nyma used to only take cases that they _could_ win. Small cases with easy victories, like workplace discrimination or neighbour disputes. Against a big firm like Teludav Inc. cases tend to be long, drawn out—”

“Six long months of this,” muttered Allura.

“Exactly. Rolo and Nyma, commitment isn’t their thing. So I don’t know what they’re doing here. Something’s not right.”

“Maybe they’re… branching out?”

Branching out was a good explanation, and if only it were true because it’d put Shiro’s stress at ease. But unfortunately, Teludav Inc. seemed far more malign than that.

Either Rolo (and Nyma) had stakes in Shay’s victory, or perhaps they’d been _sent_ to represent Shay. Which was logical. No lawyer wanting to save their own skin would try to go up against transport giant Teludav Inc. if they could help it. Hell, Shiro himself hadn’t been keen on the idea at the start.

However, Rolo and Shay didn’t know each other beforehand, so that meant… Rolo had been directed to Shay for a reason. Perhaps, specifically because he wasn’t used to running big cases. So he was just there to be someone who’d take the fall and further entrench Teludav Inc.’s dominance in the legal sphere.

“I think Rolo might’ve been blackmailed by Teludav Inc. too. Just like us. He could’ve been hired to throw the case.”

“That makes us _both_ pawns, Shiro. What are the odds.” Allura sipped her coffee, paused, then murmured, “Is this another one of your gut feelings?”

“I guess so, yeah.” Shiro looked down at his stomach pensively and taking Shiro’s silence as a cue, Allura waited with bated breath. Finally Shiro said, “Speaking of, I think I need to go to the restroom.”

That earned him a kick to the shin. When would he learn to watch his tongue when Allura was wearing those pumps.


	10. Chapter 10

Keith (Teludav): (20:41) So like I said if there’s one more person asking me for an interview the dagger is coming out

Keith (Teludav): (20:41) It’s stabby time

Shirogane Takashi: (20:43) As a practicing lawyer and ex-representative of the company that hired you, I believe I have sufficient relevant expertise to provide an immediate response. You have every right, but due to the laws of this land and people like me who will have to bail you out of the not-so-metaphorical bowl of hot soup, I have to give you a word of caution:

Shirogane Takashi: (20:44) Please no stabby

Keith (Teludav): (20:45) You dont rule me but ok, fine,

 

[23-02-2020]

Shirogane Takashi: (08:31) Thanks again for breakfast, Keith

Keith (Teludav): (14:44) Ok

Keith (Teludav): (14:45) But seriously not even with a spork?

Shirogane Takashi: (23:22) If you mean stabbing, and I know you do, it’s a no from me

Shirogane Takashi: (23:22) I half expected you to ask me to defend you for a case of assault, that’d be hilarious. Hilarious, but not fun.

Shirogane Takashi: (23:22) How was work? New engineers on board, right? Hope everything’s going fine.

 

[24-02-2020]

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (23:45) Verdict’s out! We’re due in court 29th 9am. You’re my lucky charm it’s the first case of the day!!!!!

Shirogane Takashi: (23:46) Guess they really can’t wait to boot this case out of the legal system.

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (23:47) That’s the Shiro I know, always the optimist! Bring the case report tomorrow, I’ll bring the booze

Shirogane Takashi: (23:47) Roger that!

 

[25-02-2020]

Shirogane Takashi: (00:13) The verdict’s out. In a few days, it’s finally going to be over.

Shirogane Takashi: (22:05) Keith, let me know you’re okay.

 

[27-02-2019]

Shirogane Takashi: (07:00) You have been warned. I plan to break into Teludav Inc. and get you out of there. I have nothing to lose. I expect you to protest.

 

[28-02-2019]

Shirogane Takashi: (22:00) Keith, I’m serious.

Shirogane Takashi: (23:59) If you don’t reply by 23:59 tomorrow, I’m going over and I won’t stop until I know you’re safe.

 

[29-02-2019]

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:00) Happy birthday you little shit I can’t believe you’re as old as me now

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:01) a horrific thought!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shirogane Takashi: (00:01) Wow, thanks. Way to make a man on the brink of a mid-life crisis feel real special!

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:02) With pleasure x

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:02) Are you still worried, do you need some backup for the heist

Shirogane Takashi: (00:03) Of course I’m still worried, and whoa wait stop the presses, is the High And Mighty Princess Allura actually deigning to help a plebeian with his battle?

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:04) Easy I’ll invent a swarm of robot army mice and command them from afar

Shirogane Takashi: (00:04) Wow thanks.

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:04) I’ll do it you know, I’ll learn coding for you

Shirogane Takashi: (00:05) Wow THANKS.

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:05) LOL but realtalk just tell me when and where

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:05) In the meanwhile go to sleep and stop liking my tweets

Shirogane Takashi: (00:05) You don’t rule me

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:06) Shiro I swear one day I will close your eyes myself

Shirogane Takashi: (00:06) Sounds tempting. But okay. Goodnight Allura! Don’t sleep too late yourself.

Allura kickass mcqueen (Arus & Lions): (00:06) Goodnight space princess

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Friday, 29 February 2020, 08:45 AM.

At 07:00 sharp Allura and Shiro downed their coffees and set off for Tellus District Court. The main roads were a cacophony of questions that ate each other, sightless flashes, mindless grabs from pen-stained hands, the rabble vicious for a cut of flesh. Silence was the best weapon to navigate this crowd. Brute force barely got them to the ring of security guards at the entrance.

Inside, Sendak was waiting for them, silent, grim, equally as tense. To Shiro’s surprise Allura didn’t offer her usual “You ready? Best of luck” to their client, which means she was ready to wash her hands off the case as quickly as she could. When she looked and gazed through someone, that was when she was done — and she’d been doing that to Sendak for a long while now.

They were joined by Rolo, and Ms. Balmera along with her family. Shiro and Allura hung back with Sendak, though Shiro’s gut ached with every not-so-surreptitious gaze cast their way.

The corridors vibrated with the businesslike rush of stenographers and clerks preparing for the case at hand, but even with the noise, the impending finality of the case was so stifling. It was something Shiro never could get used to. How could he? There was always so much on the line.

And now there seemed to be just a little too much.

Finally the doors opened and they took their places, ready to receive the judge. Along with the call of “All rise”, the phone against his thigh vibrated.

_Keith._

Taujeer cast his usual beady glare across the room as they sat. Nothing seemed to appease this judge. And now that didn’t even matter, Shiro’s fingers were twitching towards the phone in his pocket — another buzz, and another —

“It took several long days, but I’ve reviewed both sides of the case. Let’s just dive straight into it. Prosecution, you raise some good points. Courts exist to regulate companies, and we are one of the last lines of defense between the free market and the everyday consumer.

“Assuming that a signed sheet of paper indicates perfect information on the part of the passenger? I think that is a completely preposterous notion. The conditions of carriage exists to protect the company, but it also should protect its users. An adequate response must complement this tangle of legal mumbo jumbo, and that is where Teludav Inc.’s responsibilities lie…”

Shiro looked down, smoothed out a notebook and picked up a pen, dropped his other hand to his lap.

 

Keith (Teludav): (09:02) sh

Keith (Teludav): (09:03) Shiro

Keith (Teludav): (09:04) Shiro whre are you

Shirogane Takashi: (09:05) Keith? Where are you? Are you okay?

Keith (Teludav): (09:05) i dont have time

Keith (Teludav): (09:05) eevrythings a mess

Keith (Teludav): (09:05) the teludavs the p

Keith (Teludav): (09:05) ilots

Keith (Teludav): (09:05) everyihtng is

Shirogane Takashi: (09:05) Keith, please, get somewhere safe.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:06) I’m coming over now

 

“Wow, he can actually sum a case pretty well. I’m impressed,” whispered Allura.

“Keith’s in trouble.”

“What?”

“He just texted me, I — I’ve never seen him so distraught. I have to go.”

“Proceedings literally _just_ began!” She glanced at Taujeer, then sighed. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

Allura paused, contemplating. Shiro never said things were _bad_ bad unless they absolutely were. Even when high school loser Shiro fell and broke his right arm, it never qualified as _bad._ Big bad _bads_ were always reserved for grievous hurt, things that Shiro didn’t think he could handle on his own — things like missing memories and treasured friends on the brink of erasure.

“I’ll distract Taujeer.” Allura raised her hand. “Your honour—”

The sound seemed to remind Taujeer that they were still here waiting their turn, and the judge rounded on them with passion and brimstone.

“As for defense, while I do recognise that Ms. Balmera’s hurts cannot be quantified, there is a reason why we are all in court today. The scientific community may be partisan, but courts and judges are here to review the events and to demonstrate empathy in meeting out consequences—”

Shiro quailed in his seat. It wasn’t only impolite, it was _impossible_ to leave the proceedings when he was counsel for the case _and_ while being directly addressed by the judge. He wanted nothing more than to dash out of the courtroom this moment, but Allura placed one firm hand on his thigh, out of sight of the judge, and squeezed.

_Your chance will come, be still._

Shiro worked the tension from his body and tried to be still.

“For a company to claim that it keeps humanity’s future at heart, it must demonstrate the same human values that we all share. Teludav Inc. is in a difficult spot indeed, because it must decide if it wants to protect the lives of the billions of other passengers, the livelihoods of its pilots.

Behind his briefcase on the table, his phone screen lit up.

“At the same time, the court recognises that even though all life is precious, sometimes one person has to be overlooked in the grand scheme of things.”

 

Keith (Teludav): (09:12) please no

 

“Now that this case has ended up in court, we must talk about consequence. I don’t think it’s right to allow Teludav Inc. to draw the line between one and many. This is how it starts. First, one will be hurt, and then it _will_ be many.

“Thus it must be the _court_ that rules on this dispute, for the present and for the future. And I don’t want to be the judge that kickstarts this snowball descent into a pit of dubious morals…”

This was impossible. Taujeer was so painfully even-handed that there was no telling which way the case would swing. Shiro’s frayed nerves couldn’t take much of it. And he had one more pressing thing on his mind—

 

Keith (Teludav): (09:14) Shiro if

Keith (Teludav): (09:14) if i

Keith (Teludav): (09:14) if i dont mmake it out of here

Shirogane Takashi: (09:14) Don’t say things like that. You’re going to make it

 

“Counsel? What on earth are you doing?”

Pushing his phone under his briefcase Shiro held up his notebook. “Taking notes, your honour.”

Taujeer peered over the bench and glared. “You have been uncharacteristically fidgety, counsel. I can see it from up here! You may not be lead defense, but I expect basic decorum and _respect_ for the other house whom your company has so wrongfully dealt with.”

“I apologise,” said Shiro, throat tight.

“Any more and I will have you thrown in a cell for contempt,” barked Taujeer.

The court was silent. A few agonizing minutes passed before Taujeer cracked his fingers, smacked his lips, and was sufficiently satisfied to continue.

Briefly, Shiro considered his options. He was fast, and he was fit. There were policemen but he was more familiar with the court than they were. Two flights of stairs and a fire exit later, he’d be home free and able to make it to Central Station in less than ten minutes.

But his plan ended there. Things wouldn’t bode well if Keith was really in trouble and needed Shiro to represent him. A jailed lawyer was a useless lawyer, and he couldn’t protect Keith when he couldn’t practice, especially if he was disbarred.

So what if he was currently working for the company that landed Keith in this predicament? His heart wasn’t here, it was with…

 

Keith (Teludav): (09:14) i wnat you to know

Keith (Teludav): (09:14) you were right i shoudlve listened to you

 

Allura tapped her shoe against his and he looked up coolly, steeling his nerves, forcefully beating back the rising tide of panic.

_Listened to Shiro? What did Shiro say? What did Keith mean?_

It hit him, a little too hard and very much too late, that he was not only in love with Keith but that he couldn’t hope to comprehend the depth of Keith’s thoughts.

“… and finally, the moment I’m sure everyone has been waiting for. I shall announce my verdict. Let me remind the press that there are multiple charges filed, so I expect everyone to lose their shits _only_ after I have finished announcing the verdict for all counts.”

Taujeer dropped the report he’d been reading off of, and leaned back against his chair. Shiro willed himself not to look at the clock mounted on the wall to the right of the Judge. If Allura or even Sendak noticed how on edge Shiro was, neither said a word.

“For the case of Balmera v. Teludav Inc., on the charges of willfully causing harm to passengers, I find the defendant not guilty.”

A muted, horrified gasp rippled through the courtroom.

“On the charges of negligence of passenger safety, I find the defendant not guilty. Adequate measures had been taken and the risk, though hypothetical, was not expected to a reasonable degree.

“I will however, let Teludav Inc. off with a stern warning. Such cases do not belong in court. If you predict it, deal with it. I don’t want to see this happen again.”

With a slam of a gavel and a swirl of his robes Taujeer retreated into his chambers.

At the far end of the table, Sendak leaned back against his seat and exhaled, loud, long, relieved. And from the other side of the room, Shiro could hear the beginnings of a family realising they were not only powerless to the greater forces of space and time, but even to the tangible corporeal powers of courts and legislations.

Allura stared straight ahead. Guess the responsibility was Shiro’s.

“Congratulations,” said Shiro quietly, reaching over to shake Sendak’s hand.

“Would not have been possible without you,” said Sendak, equally as stoic. He picked up his briefcase. “Now that’s done, I shall take my leave.”

 

-

 

Keith (Teludav): (09:15) i needy ou to know

Keith (Teludav): (09:15) im sorry takashi

Keith (Teludav): (09:16) but i told you before this is my fight too

Keith (Teludav): (09:16) and you taught me its imporrtatn to do the right thing

Keith (Teludav): (09:19) its my chance to put an end to this.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:31) Keith, I’m here now.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:31) Keith?

Shirogane Takashi: (09:31) Keith, talk to me.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:32) Please talk to me.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:35) For god’s sake, Keith, please talk to me.

Shirogane Takashi: (09:41) Please.

 

-

 

Central Station was clogged. The air was thick with morbid, apathetic curiosity. _What happened? Did you see it happen?_ Questions, overlaid with the impatient wail of police sirens and Teludav staff desperately trying to hold back the crowd.

All around, cameras flashed. Bigger, bulkier machines memorized every pixel, every sound, displaying it to the viewers safe at home. Already #TeludavInc was trending, reports pouring forth from every front. What a spectacular end to a case of David versus Goliath, even if Goliath had come out triumphant with nothing more than a light scratch and a bloodied club. After all, the masses loved violence, especially when they could watch it unfold from the safety of their couches or laptop chairs or as they lay in their beds, wrapped up in comforters and quilts.

So pitiful. Poor Shay Balmera, her poor family, her sisters and brothers and ill grandmother. Shouldn’t Teludav Inc. have done something about that? Like compensation, or something? Guess it was never part of their policy. Screw policy, people were hurt, and now people were missing.

What about that pilot? Wasn’t he seen running to the faulty Teludav just before it died? You know, _that_ pilot, Keith Kogane? (Oh, _him._ Did it matter?) Where was he?

Did it matter?

He was just one of many, after all, and black sheep always spoiled the flock.

There would always be other Teludavs,

and other pilots to fly them.

 

-

 

A sea of people, haphazard lines of bright yellow police tape, and further beyond, Teludavs left on hold from their previous commutes.

Shiro ran. Down the escalators, threading between people, breaths coming ragged, _Keith, please, be safe_ a neverending loop in his mind.

Smoke. Remnants of it burned his lungs, pulled tears. Gasping from having run here immediately after the case, Shiro could barely get any air. Too hot, too many human bodies, too many people who recognised him and approached with _You’re the lawyer for the Teludav case! Do you have any opinions about this?_

“I’m with Teludav Inc., please let me pass!”

More cameras, the crowd’s attention turning to him, _What are the Teludav representatives doing to address this incident?_

“Move aside!”

_In light of this incident do you think the court’s latest ruling will have an impact on the missing passengers?_

Bright and unmistakeable, the digital clock in the middle of the station read _09:59._

“Let me through! I don’t have time for questions!”

Shiro lost the coat hanging from his arm first, then his blazer, caught on something or fallen to the floor. It didn’t matter.

He came to the edge of the yellow tape, taking in the empty platform beyond, bags  abandoned and drinks spilled in panic and haste.

At the far end of the circular platform, a Teludav lay half-hidden in its tunnel. Its passenger door was open.

“Shirogane Takashi. I’m the lawyer that represents the company.” A flash of his Teludav pass and the police allowed him to duck under the tape.

Was that pity he saw? Or was it the rush of adrenaline making him see things he wasn’t seeing? Or was it the memories of _neverafter_ that blurred his vision, tricked his mind?

Only darkness lay within the Teludav.

“Keith!”

Shiro’s voice carried over the rumbling crowd. Shiro ran, hoping, and hoping, and hoping—

“Keith, are you there?”

Shiro could smell its acrid sting from here. The Teludav was surrounded by a pool of transparent coolant, like its blood, swirling in places with soot and burned rubber and rust.

_He’d lost Keith once before, a Keith that never could belong to him._

From the twisted metal around the doorframe, Shiro could tell the pilot’s door had been rammed off its hinges in desperation.

The Teludav’s insides were bare. The seats were gone, leaving only holes where they’d been bolted to the ground. Entire tiles had disappeared, the ground rendered into an uneven patchwork of warped metal.

A single indicator blinked green. The Teludav waited, patiently, blissfully oblivious, ready for its next trip around the globe.

He remembered the stars, the swirling galaxies, the Keith was was not Keith, the shortness of breath, the cold grip of a machine’s hand on his heart, the stress on the back of his eyes as he fought back tears, _the cheerful humming buttons multicolored stars right out of a machine’s sweetest dream._

Filled with the silence of another world, the pilot’s cockpit was quiet, patient, peaceful,

empty,

with only the keycard of pilot RED 0623 left in its ignition slot.

_Keith couldn’t be taken from him again._

Surely this was a dream. It had to be. All this was the stuff right out of the nightmares that shook him awake in cold sweat, that made him shiver and wish he was dead. But where he would eventually wake up and travel to Central Station to see Keith’s beautiful smile, there was nothing left for him here.

Not in this reality.

The Teludav had negated the fundamental laws of mankind, and had undone Keith along with them.

 

-

 

 **Teludav Operation Updates** @Teludav_INC 2m

Commutes to and from Tellus Central Station are temporarily suspended. No other stations are affected. We are working to rectify the issue.


	11. Chapter 11

It didn’t matter how much Shiro insisted he had a right to be there. Not even as Teludav Inc.’s attorney. A group of pilots, wide-eyed and nervous, had been sent to pick him up and then deposit him into a conference room on the third floor of the office block above Central Station.

“Someone will be here to talk with you,” they said, and there was no choice but to wait. Allura would be here soon, he was sure — she’d hung back to settle the last paperwork for the case, secure the evidence and so on, and he’d taken off without her. She couldn’t possibly be more than an hour.

So Shiro waited. He inspected the half-filled kettle and contemplated their choice of instant coffee sachets, tried to peer out the windows at the crowd below, went back to arranging the medley of sugar packets in alphabetical order, half-heartedly pondered the meaning of the framed paintings, cleaned the whiteboard twice, went to the window to spot Allura, failed, and went back to the kettle again. It must’ve been comical to whoever was on the other end of the CCTVs, watching him pace like a caged animal, but he was  _ literally  _ that — when he tried to get some answers the door was firmly locked. From the outside.

So he did nothing but sit, and think, and stew in the million and one possibilities of what had happened to Keith Kogane.

Shiro didn’t even want to begin thinking about what had happened. He was no engineer but the seats seemed like they’d been brutally ripped from their slots. Everything in the Teludav, the fire extinguisher, the safety vests, extra straps for tying down suitcases, they had all vanished. It looked like the work of a hungry cosmic titan with a gouging spoon.

As Shiro sat there and thought about it, everything came rushing back. When he’d last been in the Teludav, and he’d watched that chasm open before his very eyes. It was black as pitch in there. Or rather, he’d not even been able to register that it’d been black — it was more like a nothingness that made his eyes strain, because his body knew the space extended for miles and miles and miles with no end or  _ thing _ in sight.

White sparks floated, but they weren’t so much stars or shards. They didn’t give off their own light — they leaked it. Like other entrances. Even staring at them for those brief sickening seconds, Shiro knew this was what the pilots saw every commute. Each of those points had to be the entrance to another Teludav somewhere on the other side of the globe — or the other end of cyberspace, wherever that was.

Was this different? This Teludav had leaked coolant, while the first malfunctioning Teludav he’d seen resumed operation soon after. Was it damaged enough that it could no longer function? Did that mean one of those exits were broken permanently? What about syncing, like that pilot Lance had explained?

If Keith was stuck in the ‘in-between’ world, was there still a way to come home?

 

-

 

Shirogane Takashi: I know this comes more than a little late, and maybe you’ve always known that there are things I wanted to tell you. I should’ve told you sooner. But that can wait… I just want to know where you are. If you’re safe. If you’re alive.|

Shirogane Takashi: I know this comes more than a little late, and maybe you’ve always known that there are things I wanted to tell you. I shou|

Shirogane Takashi: I know this comes mor|

Shirogane Takashi: (11:14) I’ll be waiting for you.

 

-

 

When the door finally opened Shiro had very nearly worn himself down to the bone. The time read 12:52. Sendak and Prorok entered without Haxus, who was probably off entertaining the press. Since there was hard evidence that Keith had been there in the malfunctioning Teludav, there was no doubt whose name was about to be smeared in the mud. Again.

Allura followed shortly after. She avoided Shiro’s gaze and wordless attempts to ask what was going on. Wordlessly she sat down beside him, and Shiro knew to keep silent because one of her cold, ruthless moods were draped around her like a shawl and there was no escaping  _ that _ wrath.

Instead, Shiro turned to the two Teludav reps and growled, “It’s been almost three hours. If you wanted me to stick around and not make a mess of whatever delicate operation—”

“You would’ve,” said Sendak plainly. “I know you, Takashi—”

“It’s Shiro.”

“The police are treating Tellus Station like a crime scene, and you were  _ there _ with them. We need to make sure you have as objective an opinion as possible.”

“Objective?” Shiro snorted. The frustration from those three hours were bubbling now, rising to the back of his throat, “I have no reason to be objective.”

“Mr. Shirogane—”

“You lot have  _ never _ been objective. You made use of Allura first, you made use of me. And every single pilot in your force. You made use of  _ Keith.” _

Prorok grunted. “That is no business of yours, counsel.”

Shiro’s voice tightened into a snarl. “Oh, it’s every business of mine.”

This was everything he’d been wanting to say for the past eight months and more, and now that it was coming out it manifested as a venomous rush. So many people had been implicated in this mess and the Teludav staff weren’t in the least apologetic.

Now an entire Teludav’s worth of passengers and one pilot had gone missing. Shiro understood that they still needed to defend themselves in the eventual barrage of lawsuits, but surely they could afford  _ some _ empathy at the very least.

“You are still upset by your past experiences,” observed Sendak.

Shiro gritted his jaws.

Upset didn’t even begin to describe it.  _ Upset _ was the kind of emotion that little children felt when they didn’t get a turn on the slide. He was fine with letting the reps trivialise his wounds for their own doing, but he wasn’t  _ just _ upset, no. He’d been living with this acrid, vile aftertaste in his mouth for almost a year. He was bitter and scabbed over from the heartless ways he’d not only had to watch, but had to defend.

And perhaps above it all, he was furious that Keith had believed in them too, once, and that may have cost him his life.

“I don’t care what you think of me. I want you to take responsibility! It’s what any good leader would do! Millions of people are relying on you!  _ Keith _ gambled his life on you!”

There was no acknowledgement in his pale and lifeless gaze.

“Fine,” Shiro said loudly, folding his arms, “I refuse to have any part in this.”

Silence. Only Prorok had any reaction at all: a single flicker of amused surprise.

“Shiro.” Allura turned to him slowly.  _ Don’t step beyond the line, soldier. _

Even now she refused to see things from his point of view? How could she stand to defend these cruel, heartless men? “Allura, I can’t let this go on—”

“Your boss has the right idea,” said Sendak. “You ought to defer to her.”

“Allura—”

_ “Shiro,” _ said Allura again, sterner.

Was the legacy of her father so important to her that she couldn’t see the rational side of this issue? Hadn’t she already admitted that she’d been made use of? Shiro almost couldn’t believe he was being admonished by clear-headed, principled Allura of all people. She was always the one who knew what best to do, even if she made mistakes, she made them because of good reasons. Not once had she strayed far from the path of what was right.

Suddenly it seemed like he didn’t have his faith in the right people. And now Keith was gone. Who else could he trust?

“I will deal with you later,” said Allura, a warning usually issued with hushed whispers but this time was loud enough that Sendak and Prorok both smirked.

Coming from someone like Allura, this was nothing less than a slap to the face.

Shiro sank back in his chair and tried to calm his breathing. His hands had turned to ice.

“Gentlemen, I apologise on behalf of my employee. He doesn’t know better.” Allura began pleasantly, and Shiro’s gut churned.

Under the table he squeezed his hands into fists, so tight that his palms and knuckles burned. He almost  _ wanted _ it to hurt, so it could distract him from the terrible coldness settling at the base of his ribcage.

“No offense taken, I hope?”

“None indeed, Allura.”

“Good. I think he stands to be a little more level-headed.” She paused meaningfully and Shiro felt the phantom weights of three not-gazes settle on him. “Let me take over from here. I assure you, what Shiro meant to say is this.”

Prim and proper, she stood.

“After observing how Teludav Inc. has managed the recently closed case against Ms. Balmera, we have reasonable cause and sufficient information to make judgements about the manner in which conflicts of interests are addressed. Having worked in tandem with you and your brilliant pilots for the better part of a year we have seen both the inner workings as well as the external relations between your firm and the general public.

“It has become exceedingly clear that the heart of Teludav Inc. is not, as claimed in the company’s slogans and eye-catching motivational posters, centered around bettering the lives of humanity. In fact the only conflict of interest lies between this company and the very people it had a duty to protect. Teludav Inc. is a gigantuan company with even vaster profits. There is no doubt that the priorities of the decision-making few have always been on the wrong side of the fence.”

Sendak said, “Allura—”

She silenced him with a glare. Shiro didn’t dare move a muscle. “Should this company have kept to its roots and so much as  _ attempted _ to consider the wellbeing of its passengers, the same decency should have been extended to the pilots under its charge. After all they are ferried by the same vehicle, and face the same risks.”

Sendak’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and if Shiro hadn’t been watching out for that sign of weakness he would’ve missed it.

“The conduct and standards demonstrated by this company are, to put it kindly, sickening and wholly immoral. While the lawyers at Arus & Lions are aware of the need to put aside our scruples and accept every case thrown our way, we also believe that it is not only a court’s onus to ensure accountability to the people — unbeknownst to smaller minds, that duty also extends to every company worth a damn, legal or otherwise.”

Allura cleared her throat and Shiro jerked to his feet at the sound. He was faintly aware of his heart drumming like a madman’s, that Sendak and Prorok had the most delicious stunned expressions like they’d just witnessed pigs flying, and that  _ holy shit Allura was laying down the sickest burns he’d ever heard in his life. _

Seeming to remember she was in the meeting room for Teludav Inc. and standing before its reps, she pulled herself together and flashed a charming smile.

“In other words, gentlemen,  _ we _ shall be seeing  _ you _ in court.”

 

-

 

Shiro was dying to ask Allura about this new development, but she led him quietly to the elevators and didn’t meet his gaze the whole way down, as good a signal as any that she wasn’t in the mood to talk. They made use of the confusion to slip out one of the staff exits that Lance had showed them the other day, and they escaped out the other end of the station, far away from the hubbub at the main streets. The day was young; there was much to be done back in the office now that Allura had declared war on Big Transit.

Fifteen years Shiro knew her. Allura was truer than the sun on a scorching afternoon like this one, and he wondered why he ever doubted her in the beginning. It’d certainly seemed like Allura was quashing his efforts like the first time the Teludav reps came to Arus & Lions for representation. Wasn’t it human to err, to dread being put through something as heart-wrenching as that all over again?

Sure it was. But Shiro wasn’t the type to do that, to err.

“You’ve changed,” said Allura abruptly.

Shiro jumped and tried to read her, but she kept her eyes fixed on some distant point on the horizon.

“Changed how?” he asked, throat dry.

“For one—”

A quick movement at the corner of his eye. Shiro found himself doubled over and through a sheen of tears saw that she’d rammed a dusty, creased coat and a briefcase into his midriff.

“O-Ow, Allura—”

“You made me carry your things for the better part of the walk and didn’t notice.”

“Sorry,” he gasped, fumbling to catch and hold it all.

“Second,” she levelled a mock frown at him and he quailed, honest-to-god quailed. This was the Allura Expression that said she meant business. “You actually thought I didn’t learn from my mistake. Do you have such little faith in me, goodness.”

“I really thought—”

“I know! I wanted to pretend a little more, see what their line of defense was before we actually went up against them.” She huffed petulantly. “And then  _ you _ got carried away and dragged  _ me _ along into your hissy fit and then I ended giving them big  _ fuck you _ way too early.”

“I’m… sorry, I just was so mad, they—”

Allura sighed and turned to him, held his shoulders firmly. “Shiro, you’re not exactly the closed book type, you know.”

Shiro nodded, sheepish.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Shiro. You were doing what you felt was best at the time, and I respect that.”

They began walking again, most of the heavy mood between them having dissipated after the punch (though Shiro was going to feel it tomorrow). Allura cast a pensive look back at the pale, domical roof of Central Station glowing in the sun.

“It’s just rare that you shift your sights away from the… the system, I guess, for lack of a better word. The system, the establishment, pick your poison.” Allura choked back a laugh, and Shiro’s face heated. “Now it’s usually  _ Keith _ this,  _ Keith _ that. Keith’s plant is growing so fast. Keith’s meeting me for coffee again, I’ll be slightly late for work. Keith gave me a kiss—”

“But he  _ didn’t,” _ whined Shiro.

“— Don’t you see? You always had your eye on the bigger picture before.” Allura beamed. “Just for the record, I am delighted by this new development.”

An old argument. Individuals, or system? Shiro and Allura were both suckers for helping those in need, but Shiro was perhaps the more humanitarian of them both.

That was why Shiro usually ended up in charge of cross-examinations. Both of them knew that Allura felt too strongly for individuals — families, friends, brothers,  _ fathers _ — and Shiro’s heart always lay with the Greater Good, or the Long Term Plan, or the Near Future. Shiro disliked showing mercy to individuals who had duties to big plans, while Allura was uncomfortable about treating an individual as part of a system of cogs and gears.

Shiro was justice, and Allura was mercy (as long as you didn’t cross the line with her). And the courts loved justice, while the juries loved mercy.

Now, though, now Shiro was… horrified. He didn’t like the idea of caring for an individual more than its whole. Didn’t that make him biased? Would that mean he wouldn’t have done the same if it hadn’t been Keith?

“Yes, we talked about that,” grumbled Shiro. “For the record, I still disagree with you.”

Allura thwacked him playfully on the arm.

A pause.

Another test — there was no companying protest from Shiro and she caught him red handed, again.

“Sorry, it’s just…” he swallowed thickly. “Is this it? Life’s just going to continue, we’re going to fight the bad guys, and there’s nothing I can do but wait to see if Keith will come back.”

“Oh, Shiro.” Allura flung her arms around him and squeezed (though not hard enough to puncture a lung, which was a shame). He leaned into her embrace, carefully counting out the beats of his heart, measuring his breaths. “I’m sorry,” she said, and Shiro knew that she’d say more if she somehow knew what it felt like to lose people in their entireties — it was enough, it had to be.

Shiro would simply have to make do.

 

-

 

“Ah, you two must be the attorneys that stopped by Central Station earlier this morning.”

So engrossed in conversation with Allura, Shiro hadn’t even noticed the visitor until he spoke. Sprawled on the wicker chair that Keith had sat in with ankle propped on his knee, was a man so pale he could’ve been cut from marble. He smiled a smile of those waiting for something shiny and sharp to fall.

“Lotor. What a surprise.” Allura stepped forward.

“A pleasure, Allura.” The man called Lotor gave a pleased little hum. His lilac eyes slid over to Shiro’s, and the weight of that gaze made Shiro feel like he was being assessed for a one-way ticket to purgatory.

Shiro had stared down many people before, but none with this powerful an air, nor the confidence of someone who could get away with murder. Inwardly Shiro was combing through the mental notes that he’d made of lawyers, current and past, trying to put name to the face —

“We meet at last, Champion,” purred Lotor.

_ Be polite. Be nice. _ “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Your colleague has already introduced me, so I’m afraid the thrill of the moment has already passed. I must say, though, it’s quite the experience coming face to face with someone bestowed the same nickname.”

_ Champion. _

He’d never ever heard of the man behind the name, only ever walked in his oily shadow.  _ Champion. _ The lawyer who’d singlehandedly taken on the Supreme Court and overturned several keystone cases in Transport law.

Allura sighed, bored of the game already, “I assume you’re here for a reason, Lotor. Let’s head in and we can talk.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly comfortable sitting out here. Even if the chairs are covered in cat. One of my colleagues owned one, you see. Hissy little furball with eyes that could see through worlds. You get used to it.”

A pause.

“Speaking of, you get used to a lot of things in this line of business. Cats. Surprise visits.” A clouded glance at Shiro — “Blackmail.” — before it cleared, as quickly as it’d come. “And I must say you two are adept.”

“We take what life throws at us,” replied Shiro.

Bright lidded eyes and easy slouch, the man was almost catlike himself. Even looking up at them from his seat, it was clear this was a man used to being feared, endeared, and revered all at once.

“Good! Good. I like that kind of spirit in a practicing lawyer. It makes the game more fun. More of a challenge.”

_ A challenge? _ A challenger, come specifically to the doorstep of Arus & Lions?

“You’re representing Teludav Inc.”

“That I am, sir.” Lotor stood, clasped slender musician’s fingers lightly over his heart, and inclined his head in faux modesty. He was half a head taller than Shiro, but so much more lean. Rich silver hair curled around his waist. “After all, it’s only courtesy that I pop by to say hello.”

“If you’re here to discuss the case—”

Lotor cut Allura off with a generous sweep of his arm. “Oh come now, darling, there’s no rush to get into the thick of it. A free and fair trial necessitates some old-fashioned detective work, some proper evidence. Moreover it wouldn’t be a legitimate trial if half of us weren’t prepared.”

“Noted with thanks,” she said tersely.

“Certainly. And I’ll give you another piece of advice.”

Lotor leaned against the glass door to their office languidly, folding his arms across the front of his navy jacket. The hair of Shiro’s nape prickled. He was half expecting a swift backhanded strike even though such an action from him would be foolish and pointless. There was something off-putting about Lotor, something Shiro couldn’t pinpoint, that so set him on edge.

“I watched the proceedings for  _ Teludav Inc. V Balmera. _ Excellent cross, by the way.” Lotor flicked an appreciative smile at Shiro. “Unfortunately, that’s not quite my style. As you rightly figured out, victims of Teludav accidents tend to go home and fragment their families with the things they wish they had. You were lucky that Ms. Balmera’s family experienced the same thing she did. Otherwise, a victim falling apart in the public eye can be cruelly isolating.”

Shiro frowned. “Is that a threat, Lotor?”

“No, a warning.” Those pale eyes glittered. “Think carefully about the people you wish to put on the stand.”

“That goes without saying, but thank you.”

Lotor pushed himself upright and straightened his jacket. Tucking his hair behind his ear revealed a silver lapel pin that glinted less brightly than the blade folded in his smile. “Well then, thank you for the talk. Allura, Shiro. Hope to see you soon.”

He ambled down the corridor the way he came, and Shiro couldn’t resist calling out, just to test his luck, “What happened to the Teludav earlier? Where are the passengers?”

A wave without turning back. “Time to break out the magnifying glass, Sherlock. Don’t let us down, now.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Five people have been injured in a deadly clash of protesters at Tellus Central Station. Four of them are pilots, and two of them are in critical condition after being attacked by glass bottles.”

The cyan-themed newsroom cut away to shaky footage from an amateur camera in the thick of the riots. It was impossible to tell one person from another in the frenzy. Police burst into frame, pulling apart a comatose orange-suited body from a smaller, no less rabid group.

“The riots follow the sudden and unexplained disappearance of twenty-five: twenty-three passengers and two pilots. One of them is the pilot that has come under fire most severely in recent months: Keith Kogane.”

\- Keith Kogane (27). - Pilot for Teludav Inc. - Involved in one other Teludav incident since employment.

A photograph taken in the early years of his career with Teludav Inc., when he wore his hair long and had no light in his eyes.

“Police are currently still investigating, but there is no reason to suspect foul play thus far. Officials from both Teludav Inc. as well as its parent company, GalraTech, have declined to give comments.”

The screen panned the Tellus District Court.

“Just yesterday, Teludav Inc. was absolved from all accountability for a previous incident almost one year ago, which led to several reported cases of amnesia amongst its passengers. The court ruled in favour of the company, stating that the company did not expect the risk involved and had already mitigated its impacts to the best of its abilities.”

An unsteady camera followed the departure of Teludav head Sendak with Allura by his side.

“The infamous case had already gained a following, so social media was atwitter with reactions to the ruling. Unlike most demonstrations in recent years, the riots were sparked by a violent group attempting to break into Central Station and damage the remaining Teludavs.”

The news reporter paused, listening, then her attention focused again on the camera.

“Our respondent is at Tellus Station with the report. Over to you at Tellus Central, Mina.”

Another awkward pause, then cut to a reporter straining to catch the words through an earpiece. “Thanks, Ada. Things are heated here. They’ve smashed the gantries and ticket machines, and one of the Teludavs are broken beyond repair—” _(static)_ “—five minutes and the rioters used basically anything they got their hands on, tipped it over, and wrecked it. The passengers have been evacuated, but police are still having difficulty securing the area, and —”

Something offscreen made the reporter’s eyes widen, and the camera turned to look.

“There’s a particularly violent group and they’re back for more, trying to go for the faulty Teludav that started this all. They’ve been using pipes and pieces from broken benches—” _(static)_ “—someone with a sledgehammer earlier today. This’ll be the third Teuldav they’re trying to break.”

“Any idea at all why they’re doing this?”

“I’ve interviewed some—” a battered smile, “—and many feel that the Teludavs must be permanently banned, and that the machines are at the heart of these problems. Of course, this isn’t fully confirmed, but the emotional high over the past few weeks needs to go somewhere.”

“Are any casualties as of now?”

“Probably, but none that I can see from here. There’s an ambulance parked outside and paramedics are on scene.”

“Will there be—”

“There! Zoom in, there—” The frame shifted. A rustle in the seething crowd. “And what I’ve found inspiring. It’s this group of people sticking close to the Teluavs, holding back the attackers. As far as I can tell, friends and families of the pilots are involved. Along with members of the public who feel that the pilots aren’t at fault.”

Glimpses of a man with a shock of snow-white hair. It was unclear if the smudge of color on his cheek was a bruise or not.

“The lawyer for the Teludav case, Shirogane Takashi, is also amongst them somewhere, holding the people back from damaging the Teludavs. I saw him up close once. He’s much taller in person.” A sheepish laugh. “Well, I can’t confirm if he’s doing this out of responsibility, but I think it’s obvious which — whose — side he’s on.”

(“You’re not a very objective reporter.” “Look, I dodged someone’s baseball bat for this report, I think I have a right to say whatever I want.”)

 

-

 

“Remind me why I’m doing this again.”

Shiro forced himself to stay still as Allura prodded a gauze against the mottled patch on his cheek. As medals of participation, Shiro now owned four eye-catching bruises in multiple parts of his body, and the one across the cheek left the taste of blood permanently in his mouth.

“Why you’re doing this? Because I’m your best friend and I’m the only one with a casual death wish — _ow!”_

Allura pulled the gauze away smugly. “And because Keith rubbed off on you.”

“What, no,” spluttered Shiro.

“Well, tell me then.” She put her hands on her hips. “If you saw the guy with the glasses making comments about the pilots being uneducated lowlives—”

Shiro huffed. “So I’d punch him again. How does that make me more Keith?”

He only received a too-casual hum in reply.

He’d spent the better part of the day in Central Station, putting his brawn to good use at last. The pilots were fit, but not fighting fit; they were as shaken by the disappearing passengers as the next guy, and they went down easily to the onslaught of public stress.

The public could be emotional and violent, but they were also predictable. Shiro learned this the hard way from Prorok and Sendak, and even before the sun rose, Shiro had already jump started a counter-demonstration exactly for this reason.

After all, people may have vanished, but when they went somewhere they’d have to come out again. Like breaking the water's’ surface for air, or the sun coming back out after nightfall. If there was anything about the universe, it was that things always were cyclical, and would always be seen to their ends.

(Right?)

“Right. You’re all set and—”

On the table, Shiro’s phone vibrated.

He lunged for it so heedlessly that he overturned the tray with the antiseptic and gauze balanced on the edge of the couch, and Allura was ready to snatch up the uncapped bottle of iodine before it spilled over the office carpet because he’d only done this to every single message so far, and it didn’t even matter because of the slight chance that it might be—

_Caller ID blocked._

Heart sinking, Shiro swiped to answer the call. This could be anyone. Someone asking him to come down to the police station, or asking him to come in and identify a body, or—

“Shirogane Takashi here, from Arus & Lions, h-how can I help you?”

“Hi. Uh, we haven’t spoken before, but people told me to talk to you.”

He didn’t know the person on the other end, but that voice still sounded oddly familiar.

Feeling uncomfortably like he’d been let down, Shiro reached for the notebook wedged between the couch cushions exactly for reasons like this. Allura grumbled but moved aside to let him ease it out. “Okay, I’m listening. How can I help?”

“Yeah. It’s about my dad and my brother. They’re missing.”

“Missing? I’m sorry, could you be a little more—”

A sigh, so weary that Shiro immediately fell silent. This was a sound he’d heard himself make, over and over ever since Keith had disappeared.

“They’re gone,” said the voice in defeat, “Matt Holt and Samuel Holt. They’re gone. They were the lead researchers for Teludav Inc., and they disappeared.”

Even before he figured out who was on the line, his heart ached for her. It was such a pathetic thing really, to be drawn to loss — as though he could save every hurting soul out there, as though it was what he was put on Earth to do. Then again, he supposed this was what made him human. And Shiro could never deny its every call.

“Thanks for calling. Let’s meet soon, and we can talk more then.”

 

-

 

He recognised the fluffy caramel hair first, and then wondered why he didn’t put two and two together sooner. Of course. This was Katie Holt, her usually-long hair was shortened into a messy bob, but Katie Holt nonetheless. Proof lay in that trademark mischievous grin and the all-seeking, very Holt gaze reminiscent of a too-playful evil genius with an addiction to pranks. Katie was proof that a family could nurture the same spirits of curiosity and love for learning in both their children.

They’d spent the past five minutes walking through bare corridors in silence, taking an employee entrance to slip in unnoticed. The muffled sounds of the riots faded completely before their client turned to them and extended a hand.

“Pidge Gunderson.”

Allura sent Shiro a glance, then began slowly, “Aren’t, aren’t you—”

“It’s Pidge,” said Katie — Pidge? — with finality. “I’m training to be a pilot.”

“Since when?” asked Shiro, slightly baffled. The Holt daughter he’d known (and envied) for years had always been training in her father’s footsteps, smashing previous research records while being fast-tracked to college before she turned 16.

The reply he received came with a too-neutral smile. “I graduated from the Garrison last summer, and joined Teludav Inc. as a recruit in the December window. They call that window the _lucky break._ You know, the last intake before all _this_ went down.”

Shiro tried not to let his confusion show, but Allura had picked up on it and remained silent to let Shiro think. It wasn’t until Pidge turned to swipe a staff/trainee pass on the nearby reader — GRE 0312 blinked on the small screen — that Shiro finally noticed the coarse stitching at the seams of that orange uniform. Unexpectedly, the hem of the shirt also fell straight instead of flaring out slightly for female pilot uniforms.

After staring at Keith for so long (to think _that_ would actually have some use) Shiro could tell that although the uniform appeared at a glance to be the right fit, the extra fabric bunched in the wrong places — It’d been altered, and Shiro could guess whose from.

“Pidge, was it?”

“Mhm!”

“Got it.” Shiro nodded, and the pilot — Pidge Gunderson, trainee, and male — smiled in obvious relief.

“Took you long enough. Come on. We’ve got a lot to do.”

 

-

 

Unlike Central Station, which was lit by fluorescent lamps for a sense of forensic punctuality, these corridors were instead bathed gently by gentle daylight bulbs. There was no sense of date or time here, and it gave Shiro the impression like he was a small speck suspended in amber.

They passed by several employee lounges and the rows of staff lockers. One of them hung open, bare, specks of white tape still hanging to the inside of the door. Shiro couldn’t help wonder if it’d belonged to Keith.

There were bunkers too, but Pidge explained that they were reserved for the night shift pilots. “Hard mattress, scratchy bedsheet, but you take what you can get,” he grinned. Instead, regular pilots got little cubicles with a small table and a chair, so they would have somewhere to unwind in between commutes.

The more they walked the more Shiro realised why Keith had been so reluctant to give up his life here, even if the walls were littered with cheesy _Keep Hanging On!_ kitten posters or others in the same genre of High Definition Photograph Followed By Inspiring Buzzword In Times New Roman.

It was messy, and though one could call it cozy (Allura would only call it that over her dead body) it was also full of life. The corridors were snapshots of the pilots’ lives on pause. Shoes and sleeping bags saved for later, stashes of instant food shoved into haversacks ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice, shirts slung over hangers wedged inside air vents. It wasn’t soaked in locker room smell (Shiro didn’t miss the copious packs of air purifiers in every corner), and instead had that worn odour of a well-lived home. Seeing so much permanence in a corridor was a first for Shiro, but he supposed those pilots had to live somewhere. And this somewhere was a place they could always call home.

They came to a cubicle that was clearly Pidge’s. A sleek laptop sat in the middle, surrounded by a mountain of wires and gadgets Shiro didn’t know the name of (gosh, was he getting old?). A small pyramid beeped cheerfully as they approached and lit up its circuits in greeting.

“That’s Rover,” explained Pidge with a flourish, indicating what Shiro could only describe as organised chaos. “And this is my place.”

“I see that,” said Allura, visibly trying not to wrinkle her nose.

Pidge dug out his staff pass and tablet. “Anyway, I brought you here because I had something to give you.” A glance at Shiro. “Nobody else wanted to be responsible for it, so…”

It was a cardboard box, firmly taped and sealed. A CPU under Pidge’s desk had hidden it from view. Shiro had to take a deep breath: Pidge’s mess was no accident. Someone with a sharp Holt mid would never leave clutter around unless absolutely necessary. It was a disguise — a means to hide what shouldn’t be found.

The box was much lighter than it looked, and had a thin sheen of dust covering it. Something rattled inside.

“What is it?” he asked, before he rotated the box and saw Pidge’s handwriting adorning the bottom.

_Keith Kogane RED 0623 Feb 29 2020._

Shiro’s gut turned to ice. There’d been several empty cubicles, and there was no way to figure out if they had been cleaned or left empty.

“Yeah,” said Pidge, reading his mind. “After the meltdown the supervisors wanted his cubicle cleared ASAP. By the time I got there, they’d already thrown out most of his old uniforms. I did save a little of his stuff though, like his red jacket.”

He tapped the box.

“It’s all in here.”

Was this box all that was left of _him?_ The meagre summation of the years and years he’d spent working, caring, _living_ for this company? A battered cardboard box that once held printing paper, repurposed to hide the last remnants of Keith Kogane?

This wasn’t the way he wanted Keith to be remembered.

“Thanks,” he said hoarsely anyway, “You didn’t have to, but you did.”

“Of course I had to. I’d do the same for anyone who…” Pidge cleared his throat. Shiro understood. Knowing they were lost was one thing, admitting it was another. “Yeah. Anyway, it’s yours now. I guess… you can do whatever you want with it.”

Shiro accepted it gingerly and just stared. After a few long minutes Allura put a sympathetic hand on his arm. “Are you going to open it?”

“… I might someday. But not now.”

 _Maybe never,_ he thought to himself as he tucked the box under his arm. Digging through the last evidence of Keith’s life felt just a little too invasive, and there were things he had to focus on. He could be patient. He had to be.

 

-

 

Several flights of stairs and an inhuman string of numbers punched into a keypad later, Pidge let them into an office teeming with screens and wires.

And paper. So much paper. There wasn’t even room to sit — Pidge had to excavate three chairs from the mounds of paper and books. Glass panels lined the walls from floor to ceiling and every available inch was strewn with symbols too foreign to even be mathematics. Truly this room embodied perfectly the minds of the company’s two best transdimensional scientists.

Gathered around a precarious stack of books that doubled as a coffee table, Pidge magicked cans of coffee for the two lawyers and a can of Redbull for himself (the new red one with extra sugar, Shiro noted with unmasked horror) before he started.

“Sorry I have to be so secretive,” said Pidge with a sigh. “It took me about four attempts to sneak in here and I think my room is the only place that isn’t bugged. Plus, you know, evidence for your case and all.”

 _Their case._ Word must’ve already gotten out.

“Wait,” said Shiro abruptly. “This is _your_ room?”

“Well, it used to be Matt and Samuel’s, but yeah. I use it for… my stuff. Why?” Pidge tilted his head, amused.

Shiro stared at the utter whirlwind of papers and wondered if he really wanted to know what went on in Pidge’s mind.

Reliable as always, Allura stepped in smoothly. “You had to change your identity just to get in here? Why?”

“See, my dad and brother disappeared years ago. In 2018. I tried to ask what was going on, but the Teludav reps just sent me and my mom a gift basket and a cute little card that said _Sorry for your loss._ That’s it. So I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

Pidge gave them a smile that he didn’t know he’d been waiting to see for months. It was a smile of understanding, but underlaid with a certain quiet pity that there was someone _else_ who’d also been forced to go through something nobody should’ve.

“So here’s what I suspect. The Teludav reps didn’t tell us anything, but there’s no reason for Matt and my dad to go missing all of a sudden. I’m pretty sure they’re not… _missing._ ” Pidge gestured at the pod behind them. “I think they went the same way Keith did. Eaten by the other side.”

The pod sat and waited, patiently, silently.

Shiro said, “So you’re telling us that there aren’t twenty-five people missing, but twenty-seven.”

Wordlessly Pidge rummaged in another messy pile and returned with a thick wad of paper.

 

_DCN 00004_7. EX/26/MC_

_00-2018-004(7)[A]-MC-Pilot_Record_CLASSIFIED_BLACK_

_\--data “” "username=DEL29V3_trace_curl_APK &password=[ERROR IN REQUEST]" _

BRI7021, Station 609-88W-F. Michelle Owens, 25, SUSPENDED

GHB0631, Station 153-67U-G. Russell Ryan Koh, 22, SUSPENDED

NIX7714, Station 510-97U-G. Im Sae Yeon Grace, 23, SUSPENDED

MMD1103, Station 224-03V-R. Florona Alyson Stoner, 24. TRANSFERRED

SLQ9018, Station 835-10A-A. Lucas Brant, 25, SUSPENDED

SYN9744, Station 153-02D-E. Phuong Truong, 25, SUSPENDED

SBB2822, Station 029-18C-F. Robert Callum, 26, SUSPENDED

TME8969, Station 835-58U-S. Leah Davis, 27, SUSPENDED

TME9705, Station 835-58U-S. Ethan Reaves, 27, SUSPENDED

TNE0556, Station 835-81K-P. Noel Chen, 27, SUSPENDED

WDL1942, Station 499-29L-M. Saliq Azlan Shah, 26, TRANSFERRED

 

“This is for last year, but there are records dating back all the way to 2008. Ten years of records, probably more.”

The data lined up with monochrome staff photographs, each with heavy shadows chiselled under their eyes and cheekbones. Shiro couldn’t shake the awful feeling of browsing an obituary.

Allura pursed her lips. “Eleven pilots, nine suspended. Why so many? There doesn’t seem to be a discipline problem in the company.”

“Yeah, about that. I realised Teludav Inc. was covering up my dad and Matt’s disappearance. Naturally, I did what any sane person would do. Impersonated a pilot, created a false training history for my persona, infiltrated the top-secret staff data systems, made dinner out of their shamefully feeble firewall and then dug up the missing persons registrar.”

Pidge slid his tablet over. The list stretched for much longer, but the names of the missing pilots stood out in lime green.

“These transferred pilots are all missing. These are only the reported cases, too. I peeked around but I couldn’t do any serious digging without alerting someone. I checked old records, and these pilots all flew their own Teludavs. So there’s a chance… there’s a chance the passengers of these pilots are also missing, too.”

They sat in silence for a few longer minutes, staring at the soulless eyes of those bygone pilots.

Shiro worked down a knot in his throat. The gravity of this truth weighed so painfully on his shoulders it hurt to breathe.

_The time read 23:20._

“These pilots aren’t suspended, they’ve _gone missing_ — they’re _lost._ And Teludav Inc. doesn't give a damn.”

Pidge leaned forward, gaze beseeching. “They have no choice. Not my dad, Matt… not even Keith. It’s one of those secrets that will damn the entire company forever. They’ll never let this truth come to light.”

The to-be pilot stood and suddenly Shiro saw in him the same darkness that eclipsed Keith when he’d talked about the in-between and said, _I need to save it._

“I saw you defending the Teludavs during the riots. You _have_ to defend my dad and brother too.”

Shiro leaned back against his chair. His head hurt. He’d signed up for the case of one victim’s missing memories, not the disappearance of at least thirty-seven. This wasn’t the jurisdiction of _lawyers._ What were the police doing about this? Surely there were investigators all over this case?

Unless… Shiro pushed the thought out of his mind. Although Teludav Inc. was rich, he wanted to keep believing that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

For now, he would focus on the things he still could wrap his head around. It wasn’t going to be easy, but someone had to do it. Even if that someone was him.

Allura gave him a nod, quietly deferring to his judgement. Shiro flashed her a quick smile of thanks, then turned to Pidge.

“The attorneys at Arus & Lions need to right their wrongs, too. So this is exactly what the doctor ordered. We will do our utmost best.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended accompanying soundtrack: [Homeward Bound](https://youtu.be/MVWy1ENiPIg)

 

_In the quiet misty morning_

_When the moon has gone to bed_

_When the sparrows stop their singing_

_And the sky is clear and red_

 

The Teludav had initially been made to cheat time, but nothing made time skip faster than hiding from the sting of loss. When it lurked around every corner, every idle thought, every stray wander of his mind, Shiro had little choice but to run, run, run.

Draped in its unforgiving shadow, a day passed, then several. A week, and now two — fourteen days, not one where Shiro had looked up at the night sky for a glimpse at the cosmos, at all that lay beyond what his eyes were allowed to see, and not wished for Keith to be returned. Oh, how he missed Keith. Somehow the pilot had worked his way into Shiro’s life and his absence ached like a missing limb.

Shiro had been expecting it. Before his disappearance Keith had been a dear friend, one that was a joy to talk to, and learn from, and do dumb things with. Like falling sick after running in the rain and watching the traffic go from the rooftop and sneaking horrible selfies in between work. Now all Shiro had left was the box sitting under his desk and the growing plant on his windowsill.

To his embarrassment he’d actually caught himself trying to send a photograph to Keith — _Look, the mystery plant put out its first bud. I guess you could say . . . . . . . . .  the plant’s becoming . . . . . ._ buddy _. . . with me_ — his thumb already hovering over the SEND button.

Of course Shiro was prepared for the loss to hurt. Dealing with people and their losses was second nature to an attorney and he’d just about seen the worst of what could be. The rule of law was designed solely for compensation and protection from loss, after all. But nobody had told him how difficult the _coping_ would be, or how he’d be tested in the subtlest of ways like mis-sent messages and seeing the hue of Keith’s dark hair in his coffees, or seeing him in every single pilot as though Keith would just walk back into his life.

No, spacetime was not to be this kind.

On the streets of Central Tellus, the backlash was taking its toll. As the initial shock and anger finally started to wane a new insurgence was rising: one colored with righteous indignation and orange.

The pilots. They began to trickle into the public gaze, filling the spaces where angry mobs had disintegrated from lack of interest.

_LET US BE HEARD._

At first it was only a handful. Among them was the blonde-haired pilot that Shiro had seen on his first Teludav commute and a couple of her friends. The crowd had regarded them with apprehension, but when it realised they were on the same side it hurried to rally around them.

_LET THE PILOTS SPEAK._

_IT’S THEIR FIGHT TOO._

Before long there would be no crowd without specks of orange — the Teludav uniform _had_ become a symbol of pride, bitter and charred as it was, and the presence of the pilots only cemented the passion that made people march around Central Station in droves.

The Teludav pilots were inconsolable. Even though they didn’t say a word to the press, their presence in the fray said far more than they needed to. They’d had to watch their friends disappear into a void nobody could control, after all, and then watched as the company that claimed to have humanity’s future at heart took sides and decided that these pilots were no humans at all.

“They’ve been shunted one time too many. They just don’t trust anyone else with what they’ve seen,” Pidge had told him that day with a sad smile, “But they know you’re here now. They’ll come to you when you call, Champion.”

 _They’ll come when you call._ Even Keith himself had hinted that, hadn’t he? All Keith had wanted was to have someone he could trust after years of being made a fool. Keith had wanted, back then in the those courtroom corridors, to let his voice be heard. Which was no surprise, since a trial in court was been the most logical place for him to be the voice for his friends and his makeshift family.

But without knowing, Shiro had taken this chance away from him, because he’d chosen silence for them both. He’d wanted to protect Keith from the wrath of the company, as if it wasn’t something Keith had already been fighting for years upon years. And now, even though Shiro knew better, it was just too little too late.

Keith wasn’t in merely love with the null. He’d always had his mind on a picture too large for an outsider like Shiro to understand.

“Good luck,” the pilots had said to Keith when he first brought the two attorneys around Central Station, and it was only now, in the midst of the Teludav strikes and bloodied demonstrations, that Shiro realised that _they’d_ been gambling on him, too.

It was so hard, always being someone’s last hope. But god did he and Allura try. Nobody else would try, after all, and it was the least he could do if Keith had placed his faith in him from the start.

 

_When the summer's ceased its gleaming_

_When the corn is past its prime_

_When adventure's lost its meaning_

_I'll be homeward bound in time_

 

Eventually, as the natural laws of the world have dictated, time had to march on.

Eventually, the strikes shrunk away to demonstrations, and eventually those faded too. People and signboards were replaced with stuffed toys and flowers and candles, littering the sides of the road —

A mass funeral for the people who were lost and never found.

So the loud thrum of rage gave way, as it always did, to the more muted notes of sorrow and grief. A full month later on the 29th of March friends and family, lovers and acquaintances gathered in remembrance of the day where the awful horrors of the world-jumping machine were finally made known.

Perhaps it was better that this terrifying day was to be swallowed by the calendar for the next year and the year after that. People were never meant to face the unknown for so long, after all — This way, at least, some people would heal and forgive, or scab over and forget.

For now though, while the wound was still fresh and tears still flowing, people chose to remember. They came from far and wide, gathering in and around Central Station, paying respects to the Teludav still resting, half in and half out of its tunnel.

On the circular platform and under its domical roof, the voices of the city choir rung full and ethereal — pleas for a lost flock to return. Please, thought Shiro, let this fervent song float through the opened door of the Teludav and reach those pilots, wherever they were.

For hours the choir and the crowd held mournful vigil and Shiro stayed with them, clutching a candle, not lending his voice to the hymns of goodbye because he couldn’t hold a tune.

And also because it hit him, suddenly and viciously, that Keith was gone, well and truly gone — and there was a real chance he would never come back. There, standing amidst the sea of golden stars twirling atop candle wicks, Shiro could barely breathe to keep himself alive at all.

There was nothing else to do but to close his eyes and let the lyrics and the music, the faint sounds of weeping and every tick of his watch wash over him, as he cradled his tiny flame to his chest and swore never to let it die.

 

_Bind me not to the pasture_

_Chain me not to the plow_

_Set me free to find my calling_

_And I'll return to you somehow_

 

That same promise brought him to Shay Balmera’s house on 3rd April straight after work, slightly flushed from the walk and in the same clothes he’d worn to the office. Plus, coming here hadn’t been his idea. Shay had popped by their office a couple days ago, promising to help with the case (just how far was word spreading?) if he came by and shared his experiences with the Teludav incident he’d been involved in.

How could he even begin to talk about his experiences without trivialising it? There were so many things he wanted to say but couldn’t because literally nobody else would know what he’d been through. Talking about Keith had become unfathomable — and the pilot’s silence was infectious. There was just so much depth to him that words would fall pathetically short.

But he’d given his word, and his word was always final. Which was how Shiro found himself at the doorway of the den, staring wide-eyed at the circle of people he’d never seen in his entire life.

“Please, take a seat. Introduce yourself.” Shay pushed him to the nearest chair. Thankfully, she sat beside him, which was reassuring. Not so reassuring were the thirty-odd pairs of eyes followed him as he lowered himself gingerly at the seat’s edge.

“Uh,” said Shiro intelligently. He still didn’t know what he was here for, but he decided to play along. “My name is Shirogane Takashi, and well, I’m a lawyer at Aurs & Lions, the firm that uh…”

“The firm that took up the case against our family,” said a young man leaning on the wall at the far end of the room. His eyes were stony. This was Shay’s brother, Rax.

“He was hired,” said Shay gently. No hint of malice lurked in her voice, though Shiro couldn’t tell if the others felt the same or not. “He had also been on the my Teludav when it malfunctioned. Portsdown, am I right?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, throat dry, “I lived there years ago.”

Shay nodded in thanks, then clapped her hands. The circle turned their enquiring gazes away from Shiro at last and he sagged against his seat, finally able to breathe. “It is a hard topic today, but sometimes talking about the painful things can help us all get better. Today we are to share one thing we regret. Shall we go around? Would someone like to volunteer?”

Shiro kicked himself mentally — This was a victim support group.

It was sweet of Shay, but he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t _want_ to talk. All his life he’d functioned best by repressing his thoughts and making jokes out of them to be further flattened by the rampaging stampede of lawyerly work. _Talking_ about his experiences was… terrifying. The most he’d shared at once was to Allura, his best friend of fifteen years and it’d been bearable only because he was drop dead drunk and couldn’t remember half of it the next morning.

“Is there booze,” he whispered to Shay, not at all joking.

She chuckled. “There are minors here! _Oh,_ Shiro. You will be fine,” Shay promised, then added, softer, “But should you wish to go, I shall not hold you.”

He thought about her pouring her heart out to the court, and tried to convince himself that it was just tit for tat.

A young lady waved, then tucked cotton candy pink hair behind her ear. “My name is Florona. I can start.”

“Thank you, Florona,” said Shay with a smile.

“Well… One thing I regret from my experience was that I never got to say goodbye to Baku.” She lowered her gaze, sheepish. “I enjoyed playing with him, even if he bit me often and squawked a lot. And my memories on the Teludav were all revolving around him. I had to clip his wings so often, and he grew to an incredible size, even for a macaw. He learned to talk, and sang a lot, because he was so happy.”

She paused, and her seatmate handed her a piece of tissue, which she held between clenched fingers. Others were nodding, gaze sad but understanding. Shiro found that some callused part of him ached for her.

“I know he’s just a bird, and he was already dying, but… See, he was the last gift I had from my dear friend Luxia, so, so I thought… I was hoping I could help him through his sickness. He reminded me of her, you know? Even if he was just a pet?”

She shook her head with a wet laugh.

“So I was dreaming in the Teludav, but when I came back to the real world, the Teludav hadn’t moved at all. They sent me home, and I had to take the train… by the time I got home, he’d already passed.”

Finally done, she waved her tissue at the group. Her seatmates patted her shoulders. Shay nodded and before she could continue, someone else had put up their hand.

So it went, one by one, around their circle, and Shiro realised he’d been hanging on to every word, every hitched breath, every tear held back. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been responding to them on some instinctual level.

Talking to Allura had been a relief, but he’d had to settle for her sympathy. It wasn’t quite like losing a father, no — it was more… tenuous, more fleeting, and yet heavier in meaning. Like fragments of a prophesied dream.

And in all of their stories, all he could think of was that strange, too-happy, overly-flat Keith, mixed in with the quieter but deep-running Keith that he’d grown to love over the months.

How sometimes he jumbled them up and how mixing simulation for reality was the most shameful thing he ever did. How sometimes he still thought about those golden shining days in the simulator, with the real Keith transplanted in just to see how he’d react, and how sometimes when he slept he wouldn’t be able to tell faux memories from dreams.

How sometimes he’d think to himself, in the dead of night when nobody could blame him, that Keith was always out of reach and it was just so, so unfair.

“One regret,” Shiro said, when it was his turn, “Do I have to pick just one?”

“If you want to talk about _everything,_ I can recommend you a therapist. We want to go _home,_ you know,” someone quipped, and a whispered laugh swept through the room. An old joke.

Shiro gave an apologetic smile. “Gotcha. See, where I come from, overtime _is_ my home. No wonder they call me such a homebody.”

Another round of chuckles.

“Right…” Shiro scratched his head. “One regret, one regret… I guess one regret is that I never…”

They were crystal clear, once, but now the words were jammed in his throat.

“I, I suppose, I regret that I never told Keith what he meant to me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“I don’t know,” said Shiro, “Sad? Upset?... guilty? I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“Why not? You’re allowed to feel anything you want.”

Shiro let out a long, frustrated exhale. “Because I… I could’ve stopped all this from happening. I warned him about staying on as a pilot. I was so sure things were going to go wrong. And I was right. If only I’d been a little harsher on him, or more firm. He might still be here.”

“Why didn’t you? Be stricter or more firm—”

“Because he was so sure he would be fine, so I trusted him. He loved his job, and…”

_Loved his job?_

_That_ was a presumption, like all the others he’d made over the years — A deluge of wrong guesses was what cost him his Keith.

“I just wanted the best for him. No, I _thought_ I was doing the best for him, but I just had no idea what he wanted, or why he said the things he did. I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t understand him. I thought he was satisfied with it, and I never thought to ask.

“Why would anyone stay on in such a crappy job if there wasn’t something _more?_ Why did I just think he loved his job? He knew everything, and if I’d just asked, I might’ve been able to stop all of this from happening.”

His voice sounded strange and foreign even to him.

“I just miss him. And every day, I regret not trusting him _more._ I regret not trusting him enough to tell him that I really… I really loved him. And now he’s gone.”

Shiro drew a shuddering breath.

_How did Keith’s disappearance make him feel? There was so much to feel, and too little words to use._

“I never loved anyone more, not in my entire life. I fell in love with him in another reality and in this one too, but that just wasn’t enough for the Teludav. I’ll never see him again.”

His voice hitched.

“For years I loved him, and even though he loved me back, I was just too careful, always too careful, too defensive, _too damn careful_ to tell him how much I treasured him. Was I too scared of getting hurt? Am I just being selfish? Or was that the best option I could’ve taken either way?”

“You know it is not your fault.”

It was Rax, lowering himself on one knee to look into Shiro’s eyes.

“If he loves you like you say he does, he would not hate you for what you did. That is simply what love is. It sees, and it learns, and it forgives. No monster is capable of longing and regret like yours. It hurts, but eventually… we all have to learn to let go.”

He gripped Shiro’s shoulder firmly.

“Why do you think we feel so done in by the Teludav? Because we did nothing else but love. Love was all we wanted. And love is no fault of yours, Shirogane.”

 

_If you find it's me you're missing_

_If you're hoping I'll return_

_To your thoughts I'll soon be listening_

_And in the road I'll stop and turn_

 

It didn’t feel like he could ever absolve himself from blame. He wasn’t ready to let go. How could he? It was selfish, but Keith was beginning to mean so much more than Shiro dared to admit. And Shiro simply… couldn’t let go of that.

Letting go meant letting go of Keith, and Shiro didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I can’t save you.”

In the room full of thirty-odd strangers he’d only just met, Shiro finally couldn’t hold himself back. The words were coming, faster, rougher, and it felt like somewhere Keith was able to hear all of this. And Shiro, well, Shiro wanted to be heard too.

“I’m so, so sorry, Keith.”

_The time read 20:21._

He could only hope that wherever Keith was now, he was in a world as beautiful as Keith had always loved. As long as it was the same mind-bending, awe-inspiring galaxial null that had so enraptured Keith while he talked. As long as it could assuage the storm that lived inside Keith and put it to rest.

And maybe, maybe those white specks in the world between worlds were just the shining essences of those lost souls.

Maybe Keith was there too, shining as brightly as the fire he had in him.

After all Keith was resplendent in his own right — a gentle spirit cut from the heart of a star, forged out of metal made for great things.

“I miss you, Keith.”

Allura had been right; Keith _had_ touched Shiro. The pilot’s very core was an unyielding, unfaltering flame that turned Shiro’s dullest specks into gold.

“I loved you, Keith. I really did love you, you know?”

How could Shiro, even as jaded and cynical as he was, resist from becoming enthralled?

“I loved you more than I dared to say.”

_Keith… See you later? After it’s all over?_

“God, I love you, Keith. I’ll never stop loving you.”

_See you, Takashi._

 

_Then the wind will set me racing_

_As my journey nears its end_

_And the path I'll be retracing_

_When I'm homeward bound again_

 

It felt like forever before Shiro finally stumbled home. The apartment was so empty without the chatter of his friends. Truthfully, that was the main reason why he stayed over in the office so often. The silence bore into him, and he’d enough of feeling empty.

He set his briefcase on the coffee table. A long night awaited. He and Allura were beginning to assemble a case, and things were coming together slowly but surely. Tomorrow was a Saturday, but these things simply waited for nobody.

He was making a cup of shitty instant coffee when he caught sight of it.

The plant on the windowsill had put out a tube studded with tiny yellow flowers, surrounded by a single silky white leaf. It was a lily, and it didn’t take long for Shiro to figure out its genus at least.

Spathiphyllum. Or in non-nerd speak, it was a peace lily.

Shiro was not superstitious by any means but he was still a romantic sucker at heart, and flower meanings always were something special to him — even if he’d seen these white flowers more often in funerals than in bouquets.

_The peace lily is a flower used as a mark of sympathy, symbolising that the soul of a deceased person had finally found peace._

He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t shake the feeling like the universe had set this all up as a cruel joke.

_Or was this the universe’s way of telling him that Keith was, in fact, finally at rest in a place he wanted to be in?_

Were he and Keith locked in a cycle of glancing lives before they diverged forever? Like two comets ricocheting off each other before falling into the depths of deep space? First the Keith in the simulation had disappeared from between his fingers like smoke, and now this new Keith had dissipated without a trace. Maybe Keith never meant to be held, like a flame that would be snuffed out if grasped too tight.

He tried hard not to think about it. Tried hard to remember he was not alone. Tried hard to tell himself that there was still a sliver of chance Keith might come home, and was surprised to realise how thin the lie felt.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, but it seemed like eventually, he’d have to.

Bathed in silver moonlight, Keith’s flower glowed opaline. And further on, in its shadow, Shirogane Takashi fell to his knees and cried.

 

_Bind me not to the pasture_

_Chain me not to the plow_

_Set me free to find my calling_

_And I'll return to you somehow._


	14. Chapter 14

Shay picked up after two rings. “Shiro, good to hear from you. Had a good night’s sleep, I hope?”

“Eh, as decently as I could manage with three cups of caffeine in my system. I just thought to thank you for yesterday, and also for setting up this meeting.” 

“No, it is I who should be glad you decided to come by. I simply thought to offer you some support.”

“You were very kind to. Especially after what I did,” said Shiro with genuine relief. “Could I just ask why?”

“You mean you still are unaware?” Shay chuckled. Was it that obvious? What had Shiro missed? “It was from back then, in the cafe. I said that I wanted someone who would change my situation for the better.”

“And I told you that you wouldn’t find someone like that from Teludav Inc.”

“Yes. Do you remember what you said after? … You said that if I found someone, you would put your faith in them too.”

“So… Lance’s the someone you had in mind?” Shiro squinted and looked around. No Lance in sight.

Shay laughed, a lovely sound, precious jewels falling against each other. “No, dear me, no, Shiro! Hmm, on second thought maybe Hunk…” At Shiro’s scandalous gasp she chuckled again. “I digress. So, I did indeed find that person. And that person… is you. I want  _ you _ to have faith in you, too, Shiro.”

Wow, that was… Wow. He’d been expecting to hear ‘Hunk’, really (Pidge was quite the rumour-monger). After the mini-breakdown he had in the privacy of his home last night Shiro was ready to never entrust himself with anything ever again. Not to mention, being the bearer of so much faith, even his own, was tiring. 

“I… thanks, Shay,” he said dumbly, because how else could he respond? 

“This case is about you too, Shiro. Don’t forget, I believe in you.”

“It means a lot to me, Shay. I’ll try not to let you down.”

The cafe door opened with a cheery chime, and the short manager boomed  _ Welcome to Khlaizap’s  _ as the pilot in question strode in. Just on time. 

“Oh, Shay, Lance is here—”

Of course, there was no Lancier way to make himself known than to land a hearty  _ thwack _ to Shiro’s spine as he passed. Thanks, Lance, there went a good few years off his life. 

“Ouch! Lance—”

“Hi, Shay!” yelled Lance into his phone.

Shay was laughing as Lance flopped cheerfully into the seat opposite Shiro, who muttered darkly into the phone, “So, uh, I’d genuinely love to chat more, but—”

“Oh! Go, shoo, enjoy your talk. And tell Hunk I said hi.”

Lance flung an elbow over the back of the chair and slouched, making himself at home. Somehow, that oversized khaki jacket matched him perfectly. “Shiro, my dude. Hear you met Shay, and lovely Florona. Bet she’s as beautiful as she when we made out behind my Teludav in nothing but our —”

“Lance!”

The insufferable pilot wriggled his eyebrows smugly. It was the kind of smug-eyebrow-ness which screamed that he’d he’d gotten some and, just…  _ god, why did weird things keep happening to him. _

“Guess I will call her…  _ later,” _ Lance smiled innocently, though there was too much incubus in it to be innocent, prompting Shiro’s soul to shrivel a little more. He gestured behind Shiro. “Hunk, what’re you  _ doing? _ Come on, sit, Shiro doesn’t bite.” A pause. “You  _ don’t _ bite outside the bedroom, do you? Like, I’m not one to judge, after all, it can be quite fun if your partner’s into it—”

“Oh, maybe, maybe. Sure would be nice if someone bit my jugular.” 

Ignoring Lance’s slackened jaw he stood and turned to meet the new arrival with a proffered handshake and a warm smile. “Shirogane Takashi. Attorney. Good to meet you.”

The man called  _ Hunk _ gave him a nervous glance and occupied his hands by wringing his fingers so he could not return the handshake. The self deprecating jokes probably didn’t help, huh. Knowing when an invitation had expired Shiro sat, patting the chair to invite Hunk down. 

Hunk did not sit. The man was built big and stout, and where Shiro’s bulk had been piled on in the gym he could tell that Hunk’s was borne out of years of heavy, backbreaking use. 

Lance spoke up, “Hunk’s a little nervous. Don’t mind him. He’s one of the best mechanics in Teludav Inc.” He  gestured halfheartedly at Hunk. “Hey, tell Shiro about what you and Pidge found out about the—”

“Shh, not so loud!” hissed Hunk. A glance over his shoulder. 

Nobody was in except them, the manager and the barista, and a middle aged couple in a booth at the far end.  _ Khlaizap’s _ wasn’t a usual haunt for the pilots from Teludav Inc., so did this mean he’d been followed in the past? Tailed, to make sure he didn’t spill any beans?

Shiro couldn’t help look around too, just to be doubly sure. 

Hunk didn’t move, tense, on edge.

“I promise, nobody will ever know about your involvement.” Shiro gave him a firm nod. “I know it Teludav Inc. is a very powerful company, but I really need your help.”

“And why should I help you?” Hunk shot back, livid beneath his nervous exterior. “Shay had to go for six months of therapy, and even now she’s not back to normal.  _ Oh, Hunk, I trust this guy, please help him, for me? _ No! Everyone might think you’re goody-two-shoes but not me, so yeah,  _ I _ don’t trust you. Irritable bowels or not my gut’s very rarely wrong. Plus you worked for the company. Say what you want, you’re one of the reasons why this company is so damn powerful.”

Lance tugged at Hunk’s yellow shirt, his usual boisterous self suddenly muted. “Come on, dude, Shiro didn’t have a choice. He was hired to—”

_ “You _ showed him around during the first trial,” snapped Hunk. “You don’t get to play the choice card with me.”

Jerking back with the sting of an old argument, Lance turned away and said nothing more.

A flicker of regret crossed Hunk’s expression — he and Lance must be immensely close friends, a close enough stage that caring sometimes was accompanied by pain, too — before he steeled himself and folded his arms.

“If we’re talking about choices, Shiro, well,  _ I  _ have a choice, and I’m making it right now. I want to hear it. Why are you asking me for help.”

“Because—”

Hunk jabbed a finger. “Uh-uh, none of that ‘because it’s the right thing to do’ nonsense. If you really cared about the right thing to do you’d have shucked that case the moment you got it. And don’t lie. I can tell when people lie. Almost always. Often enough.” 

Shiro took a deep breath. 

_ “This _ case… I’m doing it because people need to know the truth.”

“Yeah, right.” Hunk snorted. “And Pilot Kogane has  _ nothing _ to do with it, huh?”

Verbose as he was, Hunk knew how to make every word count. Keith’s bright eyes, his smirk,  _ him…  _ The throb of loss was once again crawling up his throat and Shiro had to loosen his tie so he could breathe.

“Of course I’m doing this for Keith too, Hunk… I liked him.”

Hunk shared a look with Lance.

Shiro went on, “Yup, well, there it is, that’s the long and short of it. I liked Keith. I did. I liked him so much it’s embarrassing, so much that it hurt.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t know how else to tell him that I’m sorry.” 

Hunk’s frown softened and Lance put a hand over his mouth. Shiro coughed and straightened his shirt, feeling heat creep up his cheeks even as pressure gathered at the back of his eyes. He usually had more composure than this. It was the uncharacteristic rush of feelings from yesterday, Shiro was sure. Yesterday left him so raw and it showed.

Who knew what exactly the tipping point was, but the mechanic finally took a seat beside Lance. A definite smirk was playing around their eyes now.

Suspecting the worst, as he’d learned to do when dealing with Lance, Shiro said, “What is it.”

Lance slammed his hands on the table and Hunk immediately scolded  _ “Wait!” _ before turning his attention back on Shiro. 

“Okay. I’ll trust you for now. But one wrong move and—” Hunk traced a line across his throat and Shiro nodded. 

“Can I tell him now,” Lance whined, then oozed over his chair in agony when Hunk shook his head.

Hunk counted off his fingers. “First. I know Keith means a lot to you, but god save your soul if you  _ dare _ make this case about Keith  _ again. _ Second. You need to understand that Teludav Inc., it’s a whole ecosystem, okay, pilots, engineers, mechanics, researchers, managers. And if you disgrace them so you can pull some tragic  _ Romeo and Juliet _ mumbo jumbo, I swear to every god I know and all the others I don’t, I will make you regret it.”

“Oh, do tell me how,” came Lance’s muffled drawl. Hunk ignored him.

“Third.” Hunk’s gaze softened. “I’m really sorry, about your loss… because well, Keith, he, uh, he kinda liked you back.”

“Hey!” Lance flailed and jerked upright. “I wanted to tell him!”

“You didn’t call dibs,” said Hunk smugly, and the conversation devolved into squabbling and name-calling but Shiro’s world had suddenly gone mute and he was going to have problems even breathing later.

Keith… liked him back?

Despite what the first case had done to Keith’s reputation, despite misunderstanding Keith’s intentions, despite unknowingly becoming the barrier to Keith’s pursuit of the truth, 

Keith liked him back.

Even though Shiro was a huge fuckup that couldn’t speak right in front of pretty boys and had airy-fairy movie-ideals of romance that he’d never gotten the chance to act on, even though Shiro had never done anything deserving of love—

Keith — unfathomable, enigmatic, cryptic Keith — liked him back.

“Every time we talked about you he’d get this faraway look in his eyes.”

“And he’d always be biting back a smile too. Even though I’m the one talking to him, and he’s  _ never _ smiled in front of me before if he could help it. Ever.”

Shiro zoned back into reality to see Hunk and Lance twisting each other into knots trying to grab onto the other’s clothing in a frantic tit-for-tat. Except it was less like ‘zoning back in’ and more of being dragged through all seventeen layers of purgatory, being sent to the pearly gates and forced through the bars, only to be smacked head first into a lonely coffee joint — back into a world where Keith was no more.

Everything ached.

“And he—”

Shiro held up a hand. “Please… I can’t.”

Lance and Hunk exchanged another glance. 

Screw the in-between world. The black hole that had appeared in his chest was far worse than all of it combined. Shiro’s life was shaping up to be a tragic fable, all the time, always too little too late. If only he’d been quicker. But how was he to know?

He only realised he’d been clutching the fabric over his heart when Lance stood up, shaking his head. “You and Hunk both. Useless romantics.”

“Hey,” protested Hunk.

“Drinks on me. A cuppa for Hunk and I’ll get a uh, uhhhhhhh, a triple-shot caramel macchiato with extra irish cream, I think, I feel like pampering myself. And Shiro?”

“Rat poison, on the rocks.”

“Haha, good one. This is, uh, a coffee shop!, definitely not a bar.  _ Noooo, _ no rat poison, haha. Rat poison, not good. So, uh, I guess, an ice latte it is then.”

 

-

 

“Did you believe Keith?”

They’d returned to a state of normalcy, if Shiro could even call it that, though he supposed any time when he wasn’t physically restraining himself from breaking down from  _ feelings _ was a ‘normal’ time for him. The cold drinks helped — Shiro just pressed an ice cube against the roof of his mouth until 3 consecutive brain freezes made the last vestigial tears go away.

“You were on that Teludav too, weren’t you?” Hunk continued, as Shiro crunched up another ice cube and waited for elaboration. “Last year, back at Portsdown, the Teludav Shay was on. You were there too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Keith told you it wasn’t his fault. Did you believe him?”

Did Shiro believe Keith? Shiro didn’t know. Even though Shiro was still compulsively checking the time, focusing on every little letter of every word, he wanted to believe Keith. 

When Keith appeared at his office that day and swore his innocence, his words had resonated with Shiro’s gut on an instinctual level. The declaration was written bold with Keith’s body language, like Shiro’s favorite book. But Shiro also knew that his mind was also his worst enemy: when Shiro couldn’t even trust his grip on reality Keith’s brutal honesty was a tantalizing crutch might’ve been using, over and over, just so he could keep pretending that everything was okay. 

Did Shiro believe Keith? Shiro desperately wanted to. No,  _ desperately _ was an understatement. He wanted to believe many things, really, — like if it  _ hadn’t _ been Keith’s fault then Keith could still control the circumstances of his disappearance; and even if it  _ had _ been Keith’s fault, there was something Shiro could do to help Keith return. 

But Keith stayed gone, keeping the answers with him, and Shiro was having so much fucking difficulty believing anything at all. 

“Shiro?” said Lance. 

Shiro uncurled his icy fingers and spread his hands out on the table to soothe the crescent-marked scours on his palms. “So, was it Keith’s fault?”

Hunk dug in his knapsack. “I can’t say for sure. But, I can say with high certainty that I don’t think it was.”

Shiro’s throat tightened and he could only watch as various tools and scrappy notebooks appeared on the table.

“You’ve met Pidge, right? She — uh. He. He and I, we took a closer look at the pilot headsets and discovered a critical flaw in the field visualisation drives, which distorts geometry and topology in non-euclidean space. So, we realised recently that the geodesic paths plotted assumes the presence of tachyons, when anyone who’d paid even the slightest attention in high school physics knows that’s just not possible. Obviously, this results in a false analysis of the bridges in exotic space, and —”

“Hunk,” groaned Lance. Shiro ran fingers through his fringe with a sigh. If this was to be used as testimony, he’d have to understand and be able to  _ explain _ all of this to make anything sound convincing. This was not what he had in mind. For heaven’s sake, he would’ve failed Physics 101 in college if he didn’t spent a straight and sleepless week on all the extra credit.

“Look, if I’m supposed to be a mechanic for  _ Teludav Inc. _ then I will be the best mechanic they’ve got.” Surprisingly, Lance went silent after that, and Hunk responded with a glance at Shiro. “And Matt and Samuel too. They’re the brains behind all this. Which is why you’re going to help me, right? Shiro?”

Shiro didn’t know what kind of expression he was making, but it probably wasn’t a very pretty one. “I am, but to do that I need to know what you’re saying.”

With a sheepish grin and a “Ah, right, I tend to forget that sometimes”, Hunk pulled out a familiar-looking headpiece. Made from conjoined bands of silver and gold, the headset’s indicator lights were off and it looked far too flimsy but there was no mistaking it should belong to a Teludav pilot.

“For your sake, and maybe also Lance’s, let me summarise.” Hunk shot a playful glance Lance’s way and the pilot mock growled. “Theoretically, these headsets helps pilots see which road to take. There’s the greatest margin of error when a pilot’s tasked to sync two Teludavs for the first time, because there’s no way to tell which bridge — er, road — is unstable until you’re trying to cross it. You get it so far?”

“I think so,” said Shiro.

“Yeah. Okay. So the problem is, there was an error in one of the fundamental assumptions…” 

Hunk faltered, dropped his gaze. The man might’ve been nervous, but guilt simply didn’t suit him. 

“One of  _ our _ fundamental assumptions. Pidge and I suspect that Samuel and Matt discovered the flaw first, but when they brought it up to the reps, they were asked to gather more data on it before they launched a full rehaul. And, well… they never came back. So nobody else could bring this issue to light.”

“Not until now,” said Lance. “This court case is the perfect opportunity! Imagine. If the court forces Teludav Inc. to do a proper upgrade. Shiny, spankin’ new Teludavs, I’m down for that. Plus if we can shut down all the old Teludavs and build new ones  _ without _ the flaws that the current system has. Teleportation with  _ none _ of the fuss. Throw in a remote-controlled deal too even. How cool is that?”

“That would be the ideal, scenario, yes. Unfortunately, this means closing the wormholes that the Teludavs are using now.”

Hunk glanced at Shiro, who had gone very quiet and very still. 

“When we reboot the Teludav system with the corrected assumptions, we’ll be using completely different coordinates and… ‘maps’ than what we’ve been using. And if there are any pilots or people in there, they’ll be existing in a completely different chunk of spatiality than what we’ll be using.” 

Shiro forced himself to breathe.

“So in other words, your testimony —”

“And evidence, which we have,” added Hunk.

“— yes, plus evidence,” Shiro agreed. “If we use all that as material for the case, there’s a chance all existing entrances to the in-between world will be ordered to close for good, whether or not the pilots and the passengers come out alive. And the chances of ever seeing them again is near zero.”

Finally understanding Shiro’s concern, Hunk and Lance shared a look that said far too much.

Shiro took another deep breath. It rattled the space between his collarbones. Oh, how his heart ached. Every atom in him was so heavy. He was so worn and weary fighting a fight he didn’t know if he could win, waiting for a lost pilot who might just remain lost forever.

“I understand,” said Shiro carefully, so he would let nothing slip, even though he felt fractured on the inside and every shard tore him up into a multitude of tear-stained ribbons, “I still have to discuss our approach for this case with my colleague, Allura, but I promise I’ll give you a call if we need your evidence. Thank you for trusting Arus & Lions… and thank you, all of you,” he looked at each of them in turn, “for trusting me.”

A pause.

“Man, I’d kill for some of that rat poison—”

“Shiro, jeez, if you wanted more coffee you could’ve just said so, you’ll give Hunk a heart attack and I  _ really _ don’t need any more stress lines.”


	15. Chapter 15

Late at night, the two best friends and practicing lawyers of Arus & Lions met in their office for one last rally before the biggest case in Transport history.

Shiro said, “Are you ready?”

And Allura said, “Are you?”

“Not one bit,” was Shiro’s immediate reply, “I’ve learned that I can never be  _ ready enough _ for anything. Like I could be getting ready to chow down on my usual bowl of mac and I’ll never be ready for how good it tastes.”

“Keep insisting that the store-bought nonsense is even remotely edible and I promise you, I will end our friendship.”

The conversation paused so drinks could be poured into respectable-sized glasses — Allura’s glasses, not Shiro’s — and clinked.

“Never thought we’d be going up against the biggest company in Transport,” said Allura softly as she stared into her glass. “Do you think this’ll make up for my mistake?”

“Only if it’ll make up for mine.” 

Allura exhaled a slight laugh. Shiro held up the glass to the full moon, admiring its deep hues while he wondered if some of Keith’s foolhardy certainty had rubbed off on him.

“I’ve done some pretty stupid things before —”

Allura snickered. “Ha! No kidding.”

“— but going up against a precedent I’d set up, now that’s pretty outlandish even if I say so myself.”

“It wasn’t all you, you know. Team effort and all that. I demand some responsibility.”

“Spare me, god, going against my own logic is terrifying enough. Going against  _ your _ brain is far more terrifying — by a factor of at least seven hundred, if I’m generous with the rounding down.”

“Well this terror’s on your side, even if we might lose.” Allura held out her fist, and Shiro grinned as he bumped his against it.

Shiro thought about chances, that even though it felt like he’d already grasped at the last straw, long ago, backing down had never really seemed like a possible option.

“Win or lose, we’re going to be great.”

“Plus it’ll give Keith something to look forward to when he comes home?”

_ When,  _ not  _ if. _ Hearings lasted a long time, after all, and Balmera V Teludav Inc. only saw its end after eight months. Though he didn’t say it out loud, Allura was more than ready to be outwardly optimistic on his behalf. Prolonging the hearing was not on their todo lists, but to Shiro, as long as the hearing was underway, Keith had all the time in the world.

Slowly, painstakingly, Shiro had come to realise that no, he wasn’t just too soft-hearted when it came to matters like these. Shiro wasn’t naive, nor was he a victim of denial. 

It was hope — Shiro’s favorite brand of ambrosia. He was one of those creatures who’d fly a little too close to its flame, even if it meant becoming consumed. Because if he didn’t have love or friends, whether he had function or purpose, no matter how beaten he was, or how defeated he felt, there would always be that stubborn, reckless, brash flicker of blind faith guiding him on.

Moreover, as Shiro had come to realise — though it wasn’t as slowly — Keith had always embodied that which he loved most. Giving up on Keith was like giving up on hope, and Shiro simply didn’t know how to do that.

_ When Keith comes home, safe and sound. _

“... Yeah,” said Shiro, with a steady swell of determination in his gut, “And that.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, 23rd June 2020, 07:30 AM.

The very moment Allura and Shiro got out of their car, the resultant cheer was so fervent that the air shook. If not for the police barricades the rabble would’ve swept them away. Orange. So much orange, flecked with white and gold. Pilot colors. 

At the far end of the parking lot where another car was pulling up, the crowd pulsed with GalraTech’s violets and blacks. Riot police formed a preemptive border between the two. No points guessing who was getting out of that car. 

If there was one place where people tried to stare without looking, it was the inside of a courthouse just before a landmark case. Beneath the veneer of cold-shouldered professionalism, curiosity burned so loudly Shiro could smell it. Sure they probably made a formidable image striding down the marble corridors with the dead-eyed stare of a lawyer forced to gaze into the void and then defend it. 

But their fame had far preceded them.

They were once merely the Champion of the Ring and Alfor’s Daughter, and though they didn’t know it yet, they would soon learn that rumours on the wings had already changed the meanings of their names — meanings which honoured and not belittled the warriors that would fell the beast, eventually.

“Allura Altea and Shirogane Takashi for prosecution, your honour.”

_ Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc. _ was a ridiculously high-profile case, and it showed. The courtroom was packed shoulder to shoulder with journalists and cameras jostling for better angles, microphones and notepads locked and loaded. They had been waiting, and they were ravenous.

Accompanying the two renowned prosecutors was the resplendent knight Lotor, the Champion of the People, who charmed with words like swords and an empathy that could kill. Those lilac eyes begged for attention first, and when you weren’t paying attention his gentility would split you in half. He was one of those people who was always  _ ‘on’, _ Shiro realised that day. Like oceans underneath polar ice, his silken hair stole the hues off of his navy suit, accentuated by a dark tie subtly reddened where his smile wasn’t.

He wasn’t quite the baseball bat swinging redneck hurling insults at the Teludav pilots, but Shiro wanted to deck him anyway.

“And Lotor for the defendant, your honour, representing Teludav Inc.” His voice rang clear, melodious, persuasive, the innocent toll of a cathedral’s bell. 

“Be seated.”

After the smooth caramel of Lotor’s voice, this reply sounded like granite. It belonged to none other than the Emperor of the Court. Aspiring judges and lawyers only ever whispered his name when they talked about him, or the heavy-handed iron fist and oppressive airs he brought to any courtroom. Easily the harshest judge in the district, Zarkon either went for the kill or didn’t lift a finger. There were trials he did not once deign to utter a word. 

Frown lines scoured age into the skin left clinging to those gaunt cheekbones. His hair was harshly slicked back, baring the dark rings around violet eyes that devoured. 

Zarkon Daibazaal. Emperor he might be hailed, but he was more military than judge. He seemed misplaced. Shiro always tried not to look at him too closely, because it always felt like the youth had been forcefully drained from this judge, all at once. 

“Before we begin.” He rested heavy arms on his desk and stared with soulless eyes. Each word already sounded like a death sentence. “Counsel, it appears you have garnered an infamous following. Both of you. And I do not want  _ infamous _ in my courtroom. Not from prosecution, not from defense, nor any journalist here. Understood?” 

“Yes, your honour,” said Allura.

Lotor nodded and smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Zarkon nodded, and the courtroom heaved a collective sigh of relief.

“Prosecution. Speak. I haven’t got all day.”

 

-

 

“Argh, screw Zarkon! God why,  _ why _ did it have to be Daibazaal of all people.” 

Shiro watched Allura pace their office. She’d been at it for a good 30 minutes and was still going strong. She’d wear the carpet down to the tile soon enough.

“The universe has a funny way of coming full circle, huh.”

“Screw the universe. It’s a huge cosmic bird taking a huge shit on us, that’s what it is.”

Allura only swore when she was pissed or nervous or both, and she had every right to be. Her father was a brilliant lawyer, but Zarkon was the only one he couldn’t decisively beat. Beyond the court briefs, Shiro had only ever heard retellings of the legendary clashes and well, safe to say, he was more than thankful he never needed to face lawyers like them in person. After Alfor passed, Zarkon turned his attention up the legislative ladder, climbed, and never looked back. 

“Judge Daibazaal, seriously,” muttered Allura, slamming her empty can of red bull into the bin. “Did I tell you? Back when they were lawyers, my father once stayed up for a full week trying to beat this guy!”

Shiro grunted halfheartedly from his beanbag. 

“A full  _ week! _ And in the end he lost purely on semantics.”

“Allura.”

“Just because Zarkon had said  _ externality _ once—”

“Allura!” Shiro waved an arm. “Remember. We’re not going up against him. There’ll be a jury.”

She crunched up another metal can. That was not healthy. Absentmindedly, Shiro contemplated taking the entire crate of red bull for himself. Only one of them could be inebriated at one time and Shiro was determined not to let Allura break her streak. “You know that’s not the point. How a judge mediates the trial process can still affect the outcome of a jury.  _ Trigel—” _

_ “Trigel V Grygan, _ I know. But last I checked, neither of us are Trigel  _ or _ Grygan. This is  _ our _ trial.” 

Shiro flung a ball of writing paper at her and she squeaked as it bounced off her shoulder.

“So stop freaking out and get back to writing your opening statements. We’re going to be staying up for months and I want to sleep while I still can.”

 

-

 

Not a hint of uncertainty clouded Allura’s voice as she stood to speak. “Teludav Inc. has faced multiple infractions of its own Conditions of Carriage, including but notwithstanding a breach of confidentiality, third party harm, wilful neglect of its passengers  _ and _ its pilots, bribery, and a breach of duty to the general public.”

“Wow, you are not very nice at all,” said Lotor.

“The case we bring before this court today, your honour, alleges that Teludav Inc. willfully ignored the safety of its own passengers, purposefully obscured the truth of technological malfunction from pilots  _ and _ other members of the scientific community, while using non-legal means to suppress accusations of lapses in safety. We will be referring to both the incidents on July 1st, 2019, as well as the recent incident on February 29th, 2020 as evidence.”

Lotor clicked his tongue. “That’s well and good, counsel, but this is a novel situation to even our best scientists. Sure, some of them knew that things weren’t right, but they didn’t know exactly  _ what _ would go down until it happened.”

“We have evidence, your honour—”

“Evidence is one thing,  _ predictability  _ is another. It was a  _ force majeure _ that wrought this disaster upon those poor victims, god bless their souls. The concept goes by a number of names as well, actually — _ Force majeure, _ act of god, exception to liability, pick your poison.” Lotor held up a finger. “To everyone with a pen, it’s french, so Google before you publish.”

“Unfortunately, we also have testimony that the truth was purposefully concealed to the staff and public to whom their duty of care should protect.”

“Duty of care? On that note,  _ very _ unfortunate, really. Because in  _ Balmera V Teludav Inc. _ it was ruled —”

She held up a hand, and Lotor tilted his head with interest. “We recognise that the latest  _ public _ precedent in cases like this demonstrates full exemption to Teludav Inc., because passengers like Shay Balmera fully consented to the risks involved.”

Allura fixed him with a smile as warm as hell frozen over.

“Although Counsel might disagree, the circumstances surrounding  _ Balmera V Teludav Inc.  _ really are vastly different. After all, the esteemed Judge Taujeer himself stated that lines are crossed when harm is extended from one to many.” 

Shiro, who’d been watching the judge from the corner of his eye for the entire duration, finally saw what he’d been looking for — the judge folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. The judge’s gaze had sharpened.  _ He’s getting defensive, _ thought Shiro.  _ He’s a proud lawyer, watching the daughter of his unshakable rival. Anything she says, he’ll take personally. _

“Even if this mysterious moral line has been crossed. Even if we plead guilty,” continued Lotor smoothly, “The Conditions of Carriage serves to protect—”

“Certainly not its pilots  _ or _ its own staff,” remarked Allura coolly.

A pause. Lotor’s gaze hardened.

“— the company.” He cleared his throat, earning a pleased shrug from Allura. “Expect that I as defense will be arguing for partial limitation of liability on account of the contract being signed between Teludav Inc. and everyone involved. After all, it’s not fair that the company should be held  _ fully _ responsible for something it’d already written about in its Conditions. If there are penalties, monetary or otherwise, they should most certainly be reduced.”

_ The contract is still valid, and therefore the court should pardon Teludav Inc. from paying any fees, fines, or compensation, in full. _ That was Lotor’s argument, every tort lawyer’s favorite go-to when they were trying to cut their losses before the shit hit the fan. Limitating Teludav Inc’s responsibility wasn’t a  _ cowardly _ thing to do per se, but it reeked of selfishness and coldhearted apathy. 

A faint ripple of displeasure swept through the jury. 

Shiro knew the ache. It’d taken a full day to boil off all his simmering indignation too. 

Zarkon glanced irritably at the jurors, but otherwise said nothing. At this point there was no denying that Haxus’ publicity stunt with Keith’s reputation was coming around to bite Teludav Inc. in the ass. After all, sensationalising news was the fastest way to get people talking about it and forming opinions, no matter how wrong or out there. 

There really wouldn’t have been an issue for  _ them _ if no other pilots had gone missing so drastically and so soon after  _ Balmera V Teludav Inc. _ saw its end. 

“Strong start,” murmured Shiro to Allura as she took her seat, poised and collected, the queen she’d always been. 

She bumped his fist under the table. 

“Man, ruffling Lotor’s pompous feathers gives me a high I’ll never get over. Wish I could share the feeling.”

“Showoff.”


	16. Chapter 16

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Wednesday, 5 August 2020, 01:30 PM.

“Hello, Hunk. Could you state your position for the court.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m a mechanic. ID YLW 1103.”

“Thank you.”

For this case, Shiro was in charge of the direct examinations. It wasn’t their usual arrangement, but he and Allura both agreed that Shiro simply couldn’t be handling a cross this time. After all it was unbecoming and reeked of vengeance and pettiness to let a victim strike back against the company.

Lotor was tough competition, and they’d need every little advantage they could get. Which was why Hunk was to be the first witness in the case. He was to set the tone for the kind of hurts that Teludav Inc. was capable of doing, and since first-hand victim testimony always lingered like a tasteless rumour even after months, it’d prove very helpful for the jury.

The mechanic had chosen to come in his uniform. Several badges of honour from his pilot days were affixed to his shoulder. Shiro could tell he was nervous, but still he sat ramrod straight, an immaculate picture of Garrison discipline. The only difference was the oil-stained, orange bandana around his forehead marking him clearly as mechanic.

“Hunk, you’re here today because I need you to explain several things for the court. Let’s start with the simple questions.”

Shiro folded his arms behind his back, matching the mechanic’s military rigidness as best as he could.

“How long have you been working for the company?”

“Coming to four years, now.”

“Where are you posted?”

“Central Tellus Station, you know, just down the road from here.”

“Is that your first posting?”

He shook his head. “I was originally posted across the country, at Triton Way Station. You see, if there aren’t any major manpower demands, they post you to the station nearest to your home.”

“Originally?”

“Yes, I was transferred to Central Tellus after experiencing, uh… technical difficulties with a Teludav I piloted. It’s nothing new, especially given what has happened in recent months… The usual. Something goes wrong, the Teludav is put in simulation, love blossoms, life is splendid, and everyone wakes up two minutes late with full head of memories that aren’t theirs.”

Lotor waved a hand. “Objection, can I object for purple prose?”

The judge sighed. “Your disapproval is duly noted, Counsel.”

Shiro kept his eyes on Hunk, but he could see the jurors exchanging shocked glances. The implication of Hunk’s words were making them uneasy.

(How come they’d never heard of this… Hunk? Was he a wildcard too, like Keith Kogane? If the incident was bad enough for the managers of the company to step in… why hadn’t they heard about it?)

“That brings me to my next question — Why were you transferred to another station? Was that related to the malfunction?”

Hunk took a deep breath, visibly wrestling with the memories of back then. Shiro waited, patient, a signal to the jury that Arus & Lions was on his side, too. When he finally spoke again, it took several attempts before he even knew where to begin.

“Malfunction.” Tasting the word, Hunk turned to the jury. “That is a _very_ kind word, by the way.”

“Objection, he’s coddling the jury,” said Lotor.

“Please refrain from talking to the jury,” said Zarkon immediately after.

Hunk pursed his lips, but went on, “A Teludav breakdown is way too complicated to outline now, so I’ll cut to the chase. I was out for, what, a minute? And when I came back… well.”

A pause. Then, “You see… well, you know Sendak, right? That… cold-hearted, lying—”

“Objection, children may be watching,” Lotor called.

“Look, I’m so sorry, but I’m _so_ not sorry about my language. So like I was saying, Sendak totally gives me the heebie-jeebies—”

“Objection, he’ll appall his mother!”

“Sustained,” Zarkon growled, with a warning glance at Shiro. In reply Shiro gave a smile and a helpless little shrug. _I did warn him._ Shiro and Allura, in actuality, may or may not have said something along the lines of, _enjoy witness invulnerability on the stand and eat your heart out._

Unrepentant, Hunk went on, “So I was saying, Sendak and his cronies reshuffle the pilots who got involved in ‘accidents’. They immediately move you to another station. I was lucky — they wanted to move me to Norway, but I appealed the decision because I, well, I just don’t have the means to live there. So instead I got shafted to Tellus Central, and got demoted to mechanic. For the record, I fly perfectly if I get in without an empty stomach and the perfect amount of sleep the night before.”

“Duly noted, Hunk. Let me clarify though, you allege they tried to silence you?”

He smiled bitterly. “Oh, they don’t call it _silencing._ You just get put into a room, and someone outlines all the legal fees — and it is a _lot,_ when there’s no chance of winning — and they promise that if you lay low, agree to the transfer, they’ll make everything go away.”

“Make everything go away?”

“Their words, not mine, Shiro.”

“Aren’t you a victim?”

“No! No. Definitely not _just_ a victim. Also a liability.” He jabbed a finger on the witness stand, gaze hard. “If you talk, they’re screwed. So they transfer you to someplace where rumours haven’t spread. Just to shake any suspicions off your trail, and then off theirs.”

“Objection,” said Lotor. “Conjecture. It’s getting tiresome.”

“I’ve had it up to here with the morals of this company, and I—”

Zarkon snarled viciously, “Hunk, you will watch what you spew or I will have you charged with contempt.”

Lips flattening into a line, Hunk folded his arms and slumped against his chair. He was breathing hard. Shay had described Hunk as a gentle man with a heart for the world, and now Shiro could see how that softness drove him to strike out the way he did.

Shiro frowned, only partially an act for the jury. “You’re telling us that _every_ pilot that’s ever been transferred may have once been responsible for a malfunctional Teludav.”

“Yep, afraid so. Because each new, untested Teludav sync is built on the failures of other pilots before you. Most of the pilots don’t know this, but the first time you sync any two Teludavs together via Central Systems, there’s a chance _everything_ goes wrong. You’re trapped in limbo until you’re rescued.”

“That’s the transferred pilots, right? What about the suspended pilots?”

“They’re the ones who…” Hunk fidgeted uncomfortably. “They didn’t make it out.”

Shiro nodded, then to Zarkon, added, “File B 12(i), your honour. Files B 13 through 16 corroborate Hunk’s statement, with the missing persons list and personal particulars attached, just for verification.”

“I see it, counsel.”

He turned back to Hunk. “So many missing pilots, and yet nobody talks? Not even to warn others?”

“Is that a surprise?” Hunk gave him a weird look. “I, I-I mean, come on, of _course_ nobody talks. Not when your livelihood is on the line. And you just don’t _ask_ about Teludav’s Inc.’s biggest secret.”

“Objection,” said Lotor. “Hyperbole! Too dramatic and so very overrated!”

Shiro was about to respond to the lawyer’s badgering when Hunk shot back, “Why, is there a bigger secret Teludav Inc.’s hiding?”

Whatever potential exchange was cut short as Zarkon slammed his gavel down. The jurors had their eyes averted — their attention was lost, and it’d been a long enough testimony anyway. Best to quit while he was ahead. A hurried _That’s all the questions I have, your honour_ and Shiro returned to his seat to plan their next move.

It wasn’t until Lotor unfolded himself from his chair that Shiro figured out what it was about the attorney that so unnerved him.

Shiro had been so used to reading Keith with movement, like a second language so generous it almost felt explosive. Everything Keith said and the excesses that he didn’t, the small tics and shifts of weight, twitches of hands, it all added up to give a meaningful conversation. At least, meaningful enough coming from Keith. In tandem, all of Keith… made sense.

Lotor, on the other hand. Never running out of things to say, his too-open charisma and unguarded demeanour had come across as naive. Shiro had thought it then, and he believed it until just: Lotor was a little too flippant, and eventually it would cost him.

Unfortunately, though that was Shiro’s first impression of him, a first impression was all it was. And all Lotor needed.

Playing the fool who said too much, the attorney had lulled Shiro into a false sense of security. Now Shiro felt his mistake all too keenly.

Lotor’s silence ached in odd places. Unfazed by Hunk’s jibe, he continued to study him with the detached curiosity of a predator watching helpless prey writhe before it died. And Shiro found himself _wanting_ Lotor to respond, to at least acknowledge that something had been said to him.

But Lotor merely stared, withheld his weapon of choice, and made the silence feel like a casual backhand across the face.

“Defense, your cross.”

Zarkon’s order was actually a relief. Shiro couldn’t help stare as Lotor got up, a flawless picture of distant apathy. Nothing he did was too out of line, but he still commanded all attention nonetheless.

And it was this that made even the jury still for him.

 

-

 

“I can’t believe it… hundreds or thousands of pilots, all having experienced this at one point or another?”

“Afraid so, Shiro.”

After that day at the cafe with Lance and Hunk, Shiro finally managed to persuade Hunk to share more about his past, so they swapped numbers and agreed to meet up again, to discuss in private. Shiro could tell he and Lance were extremely good friends, but from what he’d seen in Keith, a pilot’s suspension was an intensely personal topic and needed to be treated with sensitivity.

They’d already been talking for the better half of the afternoon and Hunk, finally feeling like he could trust Shiro a little more, was now more than eager to spill the beans on the company.

 _Balmera V Teludav Inc._ had been a distraction. That was the biggest lesson he learned from of his long discussion with Hunk.

Focusing on the Conditions of Carriage was one thing. That those same loopholes existed to trap pilots as well was something else completely. And it meant that Shiro had lost sight of the bigger story.

It also meant that Keith had long since gotten caught up in this intricate web of deceit. His becoming scapegoat had been an unquestionable plan to the Teludav reps. They must’ve known that Keith would’ve tattled no matter what they did, which was why they smeared his name and then agreed to take him back. They wanted him _in_ their circle, not _out_ of it.

Even so… before his inexplicable disappearance, Keith might’ve been slated for transfer. Had he already been informed, forced to keep it hush? Or had he been willing to go quietly and be whisked out of Shiro’s life without warning… again?

No. That wasn’t like Keith… _at least,_ thought Shiro weakly, _not the Keith he thought he knew._

“Do you know about Keith’s circumstance? I know he got suspended, but how come he never got transferred like all the other pilots?”

A slight smile tugged at Hunk’s lips, the kind of smile reserved for when you pulled the short end of the stick.

“Well, frankly, they needed him. He was one of the only pilots who could sync up two unrelated Teludavs on the first try, and has never failed. I think he has, like, over a thousand syncs under his belt.”

His gaze was faraway. Shiro let himself imagine what he was thinking. Maybe he’d watched Keith on one of the sims, skillfully navigating the unfathomable darkness of the in-between world. Entering each Teludav commute with no fear, only the thrill of a challenge to be surmounted — a pinnacle of courage and bravery.

“He was no wildcard. Everyone knew Keith Kogane — Golden boy of Teludav Inc. Pilot Red, our pride and joy. When someone says you ‘Fly Red’, you’ve made it big.” He stifled a laugh. “For years, nobody’s come close to filling his gaudy anime boots.”

“He is typical protagonist material, isn’t he.”

“Word on the water’s that Keith softened after his first incident,” Hunk added slyly, leaning on the table. His voice was actually silky as he said, “You know, with the Teludav you were on.”

Despite himself, Shiro found one of those shitty grins trying to escape and Hunk had definitely noticed because he was leaning forward with unmasked curiosity and damn it, why was everyone always so ready to ask about him and Keith? Was it the face? What exactly was this expression and why did everyone think it meant  _Please ask me embarrassing questions about my godawful crush on a missing pilot._

Shiro’s cheeks heated as he said, “Right, enough of that or I will literally stab myself with a teaspoon.”

Helpfully, Hunk slid his over.

Shiro squinted at it. “I know lawyers are pretty much the zombified remains of humanity, but I honestly can’t vouch for my zombie self and I don’t think it’s good to gamble on him… it… with the upcoming case.”

“Uh huh.” He smiled unapologetically, but allowed him the metaphorical red card and let the conversation drift.

“Was it _his_ Teludav? That day at Central Station? Was he piloting it?”

He shook his head. “Pilots on duty saw Keith run in. It was someone else’s Teludav. Only god knows if they’re even able to return home now.”

“At this rate, I guess any reality will be better than ours,” said Shiro, not at all joking, but to his surprise made Hunk snicker even despite the initial bout of horror. Well, they did say gallows humour was the make (or break) of any friendship.

Plus, the rumours sounded about right. Keith, saying _I’m sorry, Takashi, but this is my fight too_ just moments before he jammed his phone into his pocket and rushed heedlessly into the void. This was a fight he never needed to be in, but was forced to be a part of because he was a pilot that simply cared too much for those who risked their lives for this transport.

Obviously Teludav Inc. would want a pilot like him around. He was one-of-a-kind and they desperately needed his skill, even if he was there as backup pilot for when things went wrong.

Even so, perhaps they weren’t expecting him to suddenly run into a Teludav and vanish. Keith might’ve been the company’s prize, but there was an element of recklessness to him that even Shiro himself couldn’t quite grasp.

Even though only a masterful hand could manipulate all these elements — chess pieces on a board that spanned the dimensions of transport management, public relations, _and law_ — that someone pulling the strings must’ve surely been outsmarted by the wild, unfathomable inner workings of Pilot Red.

And that person was — “Do you happen to know this fellow?” Shiro held out his phone. A photo, one of those corporate 3/4 shots that exuded the perfect balance of charisma and style. That silver lapel pin caught the light.

“His name—”

“Who _doesn’t_ know Lotor.”

Hunk’s lip curled.

“The slimy prince that smiles as he promises to strip you of your house and savings unless you transfer stations. The man who says _goodbye_ like you’re walking to your execution. Or has that much _pity_ it drips from his every word.”

A gash had opened up in him, vast and empty and cold, the bottom of a great chasm where only bones lay waiting to rot.

“So, yeah, don’t worry. Everyone knows Lotor… Teludav Inc. makes sure of that.”

 

-

 

The courtroom was silent as Lotor strode up to Hunk and clasped his hands in front of him, a sign of respect. He tilted his head and said, gently, “Hunk.”

“Lotor,” he responded flatly.

“Thank you for sharing your experiences with the court. It must’ve been quite an ordeal.”

Hunk seethed, and did not take the bait.

“I don’t mean to be a loudmouth, but let’s keep the conspiracy theories out of court, shall we? We’re here to discuss facts, and we really shouldn’t waste the precious time of the court or our lovely jury.”

The mechanic's jaw tightened. Standing with his back to Shiro, he couldn’t tell what expression Lotor was making, but Hunk was wound tight enough to snap right there and then. He glanced at Shiro. _Let me._

Subtly, Shiro shook his head, as firm and resolute as he’d been when they argued about this during their meeting.

Obviously Hunk was dying to let the court know Lotor’s involvement in all this. It was a fat lot of cheek they had, sending the perpetrator of these illicit threats into court, in full view of the public eye. It was too easy to simply pin the blame on Lotor, force him onto the stand, and make him testify.

But that was exactly what _Teludav Inc._ wanted. This case was about the missing Teludav, not about the company’s reach into the legal and political realm. If Shiro or Allura tried to fight that battle here, it’d be too easy for Zarkon to throw them out of court, or force the jury to disregard anything they said, and to give _Teludav Inc._ enough ammo to write them off as raving nutcases.

Shiro knew how to pick his battles, and Lotor was not the only one who could use silence as a weapon.

“Please, trust me,” he’d pleaded of Hunk that day, because that was all he could do. Ask, and hope it was enough.

He hadn’t given an answer then, but as he turned back to Lotor so the lawyer could continue his questions, Hunk’s answer was crystal clear. Cooperation.

 _Oh thank sweet honeyed minerva,_ thought Shiro, feeling faint enough to slide down his chair. Allura gave his shoe a warning nudge under the table.

Lotor drew his heels together. If he was disappointed that Hunk hadn’t engaged him, he didn’t show it. Which was _infuriating._ “If I didn’t know better, Hunk, I’d think you were testifying for a criminal trial.”

“Well, this case should’ve been tried as one,” Hunk quipped back.

Lotor gave that some thought, then shrugged and nodded. “Remind us again — Each time a pilot tries to set up a new sync, pilots are at risk of disappearing into the void and never returning, in which case they’ll be labelled…”

He trailed off and gestured for Hunk to finish his sentence, which he did, grudgingly, as if realising he was being led into a trap.

“Suspended.”

“I see. On the other hand, if the pilots _do_ return, Teludav Inc. will assign them to another station?”

“Yes, and like I’ve made clear, they will be marked as ‘Transferred’ pilots.”

“Good. How’s it like, working for Teludav Inc.? I’m sure it’s a question many of us are wondering,” he chuckled with a smile at the jury. To Shiro’s horror, several were nodding.

Oh, Shiro knew what Lotor was getting at. Shiro cast a look with Allura, who pursed her lips. It was what any lawyer worth his salt would’ve done, really. Not the most creative trick in the book, but it turned the tide in Lotor’s favour.

“Uhhh,” Hunk hesitated, not understanding the reason why Lotor was asking his question. “It’s, it’s alright, I suppose, you get to meet lots of new people and see the world, which is fun.”

“Do you get along well with the other pilots?”

“Well enough, yes. Especially the ones with similar shifts.”

“Oh, but that’s quite tough to make new friends, isn’t it? There are so many pilots, and from what I gather of the job, hundreds of Teludavs mean hundreds of pilots cycling through the station every day.”

Hunk nodded. Shiro could sense his walls dropping. Such was the effect of Lotor’s easy, straightforward demeanour. _Come on, Hunk, don’t pally up with opposing counsel._

“There are many pilots, yeah, but I kinda like the hectic pace, even if we never talk.”

_Shit._

“I see. Very good, Hunk. Now, have you by any chance taken a look at the file that Mr. Shirogane submitted as evidence?”

“You mean the list of suspended pilots, and the missing persons list? Yeah.”

“A rather imposing list. With a lot of names.”

“A lot of affected pilots,” deadpanned Hunk. “What did you expect?”

Lotor tilted his head. “Affected for certain?”

“Yes.”

“For _certain?_ So, say if I were to call each and every suspended pilot somehow, not one, at all, would pick up the phone?”

Hunk’s jaw tensed.

Lotor paused, his silence not unkind, then pressed, “Hunk? Could you answer the question for the court?”

Hunk exhaled sharply, then, “I suppose there might be one or two who’d pick up. Maybe some were legitimately transferred. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Oh, oh no, don’t worry, that’s alright. Let’s stick to what you know, then. Have you met all these pilots? Or talked to them at all?”

“Unfortunately not, Mr. Lotor,” he said coldly.

“Unfortunate indeed. I’m sure they would’ve made good friends, most of you tend to be upstanding characters.” There was genuine sadness in his voice. “Back to the list we were talking about earlier… I just need to confirm.”

Lotor took measured steps over to the jury, then turned to face Hunk, so if he were to answer him, he’d also be answering to the jury as well. Eye contact was accountability, and he wanted Hunk to feel the weight of his words.

“From your testimony, it sounds as though you never knew all the suspended or transferred pilots personally, nor did you confirm the circumstance of each pilot on the list submitted as evidence. Is that correct?”

Hunk hesitated. His next glance at Shiro told him he’d figured out Lotor’s scheme. But there was nothing Shiro could do. It was a fair cross, with nothing untoward Shiro could object to. All Shiro could do was nod again, because a question had been asked and Hunk couldn’t deny an answer.

“Yes,” Hunk ground out.

“So you can’t prove, beyond all reasonable doubt, that all these pilots went missing as a result of, in your words, a Teludav malfunction.”

The silence hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, before Hunk finally gave his answer. Satisfied, Lotor nodded, and then nodded again at the jury to thank them for their attention.

“No more questions.”

By the time the attorney returned to his seat, all traces of emotion had vanished behind a veneer of professional apathy.

Not only had he discredited their evidence, he’d also torn down the credibility of a pilot — and by extension, especially considering Hunk’s testimony, the others as well — and he’d done it in a respectable, rational, reasonable way. By asking questions that _interested_ the jury. He’d won more than a couple brownie points with them, and it wasn’t just because he was sleek and suave and some of the jurors actually looked like they wanted to get to know him personally.

No, Lotor wasn’t the sort who’d resort to flashy tactics for _oohs_ and _aahs._ Quite the opposite, in fact. Everything he did, he did because it had some place in a grand plan visible to nobody else but him. He was so persuasive precisely because he leveraged on the human condition of curiosity, of being drawn to the unknown. Whether you liked him or not, you’d listen just to know what he might say next.

Lawyers like him were terrifying — and Teludav Inc. had been withholding their ace weapon for times exactly like this.


	17. Chapter 17

Tellus Central Station, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, October 27, 09:59 AM.

Before 09:59 AM, everything in Tellus Central Station was wholly, completely, extraordinarily ordinary.

Save the odd handful of rushing salarymen, most of the rush hour traffic had just about dispersed. If it could even be called rush hour traffic to begin with — after the scandal with Pilot Red and the company’s conditions of carriage, ridership took a serious blow. Commutes that were usually operating at maximum capacity now had to be streamlined, with less popular routes axed completely.

Public image was certainly part of the problem. Since it didn’t help that somehow, the Teludavs damaged in the riots were never reopened for commission, even though they’d been repaired. Instead, they had been left like this, shrouded by dust and a myriad of suspicions with no proper explanation.

Of course, all the Teludavs except the unsettling hollowed-out shell that had been left behind after the incident on 29th February. It still lay half-inside its tunnel, lonely, waiting, empty, cordoned off behind a ring of red and white tape.

_WHERE WAS PILOT RED?_

_#JusticeForPilots_

Traces of the movements splattered every corner of the public’s consciousness, refusing to be forgotten.

_BRING KEITH KOGANE HOME._

Amidst criticism and backlash the Teludavs, still not yet shut down because people needed to get to work and school and so the rest of the world can function, continued to be operated by dead-eyed pilots who kept their heads down and let the world hope on their behalf.

Such was life here in Central Tellus Station,

until 09:59AM on the 27th of October.

 

-

 

As the station clock chimed the hour, a dissonant metallic screech cut through the usual chatter and electronic beeps. It came from the cordoned-off Teludav with no insides and it sounded like something enormous was trying to move, only to grate angrily against the concrete when it found that it could not. Every passenger on all of Tellus Station’s platforms heard it and froze in expectation of something nightmarish coming to consume them.

But nothing did, and only silence remained.

However, every pilot on that platform knew immediately what it was, even though it had lasted no longer than a second. For it was a sensation they had become intimately familiar with, over the years, and they had to not only unlearn their fear but also learn respect for it —

The shift of the air as the world breathed.

Soon the broken Teludav was surrounded by nothing but orange as pilots huddled close, wondering, hoping, praying.

A thin tendril of steam curled and flicked out, and that spurred one of the pilots to take a bold step forward and approach the waiting Teludav.

She didn’t need to walk far because someone else stumbled onto the platform, blinking wearily against the fluorescent light.

A ragged cheer erupted as the pilot ran forward and caught the passenger before she fell.

“What… happened?” her voice was so weak it was barely a whisper.

The pilot gripped her shoulders as her colleagues ran inside to help the other two that lay, sprawled and unmoving, inside the Teludav.

“You’re safe, ma’am, we’ll explain everything, but _oh,_ thank god—” she paused to draw breath, unable to hold back tears, “You’re back. It’s Tellus Central Station, and you’re safe now. You’re back. You made it.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, October 27, 10:00 AM.

“Good morning, sir, could you state your name and position for the court, please.”

“You can call me Sendak. I’m the CEO for Teludav Inc.”

Lotor inclined his head slightly. “Thank you for taking some of your precious time off to be here. I imagine there’s plenty to worry about without this hearing on your hands.”

“Oh, you know. A bit of this, a bit of that,” drawled Sendak. Maybe it was just Shiro’s overthinking it, or his knowing that Sendak was a despicable and filthy liar, but he wanted Sendak off the stand immediately. He fouled the courtroom.

“Sounds exciting. Right, I shan’t waste any more of your time — questions, yes? Now, Teludav Inc. chose a rather unorthodox response to the incident on 29th February this year. Echoes, as one might allege, from an earlier incident that was the star of _Balmera V Teludav Inc._ Could you tell us about that?”

With a tired sigh and resigned smile that set the mood perfectly, Sendak straightened to answer. “Yes… We have been accused of many things these past few years, although none as damaging as the defamation of our own pilots.”

“You plead _not guilty_ to these accusations, then?”

 _This is not the case we are here to try._ Before Shiro could even move Allura had called out, “Objection, irrelevance.”

Lotor waited expectantly as Zarkon contemplated. “I’ll allow it, counsel. I imagine there is has a point.”

“But your honour—”

“Do not badger _me,_ counsel.”

Allura slunk back into her seat as Lotor purred, “Thank you, your honour.”

Zarkon was playing favorites now? Who was he to talk about badgering? The judge hadn’t even batted an eyelid when Lotor hounded Hunk, incessantly, over and over. Shiro knew his kind — it was the same strategy he’d used on Shay, and it’d been pure luck that Hunk had seen enough of the company and had been hardened enough to use that bitterness against Lotor. Any other pilot might’ve cracked up under that relentless pressure.

And now Lotor was putting Sendak on trial for something that lay beyond the purview of the case at hand. It wasn’t an oft-used trick but it was clever, meant to pull a veil over the jury’s eyes. Innocence was a powerful motivator and even the mere impression could sometimes swing cases when it shouldn’t.

Well, if nothing went wrong, they’d be able to get back at him later.

“Like I was saying, Mr. Sendak, are the defamation accusations ungrounded?”

“All official reports and our press conferences were meant to be as objective as possible. After all, we are a publicly listed company, and at the very least, our passengers deserve some level of accountability. I made that call, and I would have let the public know the exact reason for the fault whether it was pilot error or system malfunction, whether or not we would get accused of defamation.”

Smooth, impassioned, empathetic. Works of a skilled wordsmith, practiced often in the mirror in front of a lawyer with high standards.

“Jeez. No wonder they call you the man with the iron fist, huh?”

“I dislike the name, it sounds like the name of a cheap superhero.”

This earned several muted chuckles from the jury. Allura was very unhappy about that.

“So, most of the things your company does is for… morale? Or public image?”

“Both, counsel. It’s never about one or the other. Morale, because on the one hand, pilots and passengers are disappearing, but our company _must_ keep running no matter what. And on the other hand, it’s about public image, because passengers need us and well, we need them too. Teludav Inc. is part of a symbiotic relationship. An ecosystem, as some of my engineers and pilots are fond of calling it. There is no point jeopardizing what little we have.”

Shiro frowned. Buzzwords like those were very dangerous. Words with no definite meaning, the jury could fill it in any way they wanted — which meant he was saying nothing except what the jury wanted to hear.

He turned to Allura so he could highlight it as a potential line of attack, only to realise she’d already gotten on it and was scribbling furiously on her notepad. Shiro just stared for a few moments, and Allura had to give him a look that said _What’s wrong with you?_ before he remembered he was still in court with lots of scrambling to do.

It was just so… surreal. Barely three years ago she’d ruined her first cross, and now for her second, she was just as seasoned as any other lawyer. Maybe she’d been forced to grow a little too fast, but there was greatness in her and Shiro was sure he would see it today.

“The charges for today, Mr. Sendak, are for violation and insufficiency of your company’s conditions of carriage. Do you think this is fair?”

“Not in the least,” said Sendak. His shoulders had slumped. “If we had predicted it, we would certainly have put in the precautions to stop it.”

“In other words, you are being trialed for a crime you did not know would be committed.”

Lotor rubbed his chin and turned to the jury with a meaningful pause. Shiro and Allura let the loud fox have his day in court.

“Well, you’re the lawyer,” said Sendak. “If those are the terms of this trial I will gladly accept them.”

 

-

 

Over coffee and the thick stack of printed evidence, Shiro and Allura contemplated their next move. Lawyering was sometimes like a game of chess, if you could play your own objective opponent _while_ making sure you had enough to cover your own tracks. At the same time maybe it wasn’t all that much like chess because the rules changed from game to game and depended on a fickle jury.

Well, good thing Shiro was horrible at chess. Courtrooms were his prefered battlegrounds and not a wooden chessboard, no matter how metaphorical.

“Lotor’s crazy.” Allura said generously.

“He is,” agreed Shiro. “And—”

“I got it.” The heat of challenge glowed in her eyes as Allura folded her arms and said, “Lotor’s the kind used to being the bad guy, as we all are. Difference is, Lotor’s the kind of person who’ll never put anyone down to make his players look good.”

“W-Where is all this coming from—”

“Accountability, credibility, trustworthiness, all that jazz. Plus, you know what they say, the way to a jury’s heart is with a witness—”

“You’re making things up at this point, Allura, what are you—”

“—So all we need to do, partner,” Allura lifted her mug of coffee to make an imaginary toast (how much coffee had she drunk?), “Is wait for Lotor do our hard work for us, and ride his coattails to victory.”

 

-

 

“Mr. Sendak, thank you for your testimony.”

“Allura. Always a pleasure.”

Even sitting, he towered over her. The witness stand was raised, but his own natural height and bulk made him look that much more foreboding against Allura’s slender profile. Opting for an interesting persona for this trial, Allura stood with the same rigidness that the court had seen in Hunk. Hair in a tight bun, hands clasped behind her back in an _at ease_ position, legs drawn neatly together.

Just for a moment, she was a cadet.

“It sounds like all your responsibilities are dedicated to the company, sir.”

Raising an eyebrow at the brusque, military curtness, Sendak paused to work out Allura’s strategy. Shiro could feel the glare of that pale gaze and mentally wished Allura all the best.

“If you refer to the responsibilities I have while in office, yes, Allura. That’s what CEOs tend to do.”

“What about the hardware and software evaluations, sir? As I understand, it is also under the jurisdiction of Mr. Prorok. Do you make those calls too, sir?”

“Yes, ultimately, Mr. Prorok still answers to me.”

“Understood, sir. Now, if I may draw the court’s attention to evidence file 10A (i) for a brief moment please.”

Movements crisp and sharp, Allura strode back to their desk for the document. She really was so _in_ the mood. See, Shiro was right, she did belong in theatre. Biting back a smile was a vain effort from the start, and when Allura caught his eye she nearly broke character but by sheer force of will she maintained a straight face.

“This is a confidential document issued under your orders, sir. For members of the jury, this document reads, ‘Central Systems Core Update VX5a’, an operation launched in January 10th, 2019, sir.”

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Sir, could you explain this to the court.”

“Objection,” said Lotor. “She should be doing the explaining, not him.”

Shiro stood. “Objection… to Lotor’s objection?” He held out his hands. “Lotor, come on.”

“Sit,” said Zarkon.

Allura immediately said again, “Sir, please explain this to the court.”

Silence settled in the courtroom as Sendak wrestled with himself. Discarding the good boy act, opposing counsel had leaned back in his chair expressionlessly to let the inevitable play out.

That’s right. Lotor had just about figured it out. By establishing Sendak’s credibility, he’d also dug the man’s grave.

“It’s… a software update to Central Systems. After receiving multiple reports of instability during commutes, we opted to upgrade the communication systems in the hopes of keeping sync processes more steady.”

“And how long did the upgrade take, sir?”

“It’s still ongoing.”

“While the Teludavs are in operation, sir?”

“The Teluavs run 24/7, so yes.”

“Does this affect a Teludav’s performance at all, sir?”

The briefest of pauses.

“Yes,” Sendak said. “Even so, it is an urgent process. There are complications, because our usual lead scientists are currently unavailable and we have taken to using trial and error instead.”

“So you do active testing on Teludavs while they are in operation, and even then, you’re not 100% certain that the testing will yield positive results?”

“Yes.”

The jury rustled.

Allura nodded once. A salute would be too far, but the rest of her act brought the message across.

“Sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, October 27, 11:34 AM.

“That shall be all for today. Both sides, please present your objectives for the next time we meet again here.”

“It’ll be my witness, your honour.” Lotor stood, and there was a smile in his voice when he said, “I will be calling opposing counsel, Shirogane Takashi, to the stand.”

Opposing counsel Shirogane Takashi fought back a cold fist to his gut.

“Fine. August 12th at 1PM.” The gavel crashed. “Court adjourned.”

All was still as the judge left, and then a burst of activity. Journalists streamed out the visitor exits and through the open doors, camera flashes and incoherent questions spilled into the courtroom.

Lotor was beside Shiro’s table in an instant and they spent a few long minutes simply gazing at each other. Each burst of white light caught that shiny lapel pin like flecks of white, dancing.

“I eagerly await hearing from you, counsel,” said Lotor. As neutral as he looked, the man’s eyes were dark, hungry.

“Be careful who you put on the stand,” said Shiro.

Lotor smiled, and it felt like watching something being grated into fine shards.

“You’re too kind. Although I must admit, if I were you, I really wouldn’t be worried about me. See you in court, Champion.”


	18. Chapter 18

Tellus Central Station, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, October 27 2020, 12:48 PM.

Police officers were at the scene when Shiro and Allura got there. In the distance, ambulance sirens wailed. Shiro stumbled down the steps just in time to see someone in orange being helped out of the broken Teludav —

Chestnut brown hair, female.

Not his Keith.

But these were all the lost pilots, and they were finally coming home. Surely Keith couldn’t be far behind.

Right?

“Shiro! Get your ass over here.” Allura gestured to a lanky redhead beside her. “Shiro, this is Coran, my—”

“Good afternoon and salutations, young whippersnapper!” With a dramatic spin the redhead dressed crisply in the navy uniform of the Tellus City Force gave him a smart salute. That orange moustache twitched — a smile. “The name’s Coran, Lieutenant Coran. Detective. They call me the ol’ Coranive. And you! I’ve heard a lot about you and your courtroom exploits!”

Shiro must’ve looked a little lost, because Allura leaned over and helpfully supplied, “He’s fond of portmanteaus.”

Coranive the detective… _oh._

“Allura’s told me a lot about you, she looked up to you when she was just starting out and ah, I remember when she—”

“Coran, stop it,” she huffed without heat. “Christmas dinner’s still half a year away. We came here to talk about—”

“Oh yes, right, right, I understand.”

He leaned in like he was sharing a grave secret.

“You must be here to talk about… The Pilots.”

Shiro nodded dumbly. No other words came to mind. Because, well, what else could they be here for?

Another bristle of that orange moustache and Coran turned to his squad. “Men, I leave the auxiliary support to you! We have important non-police, non-lawyer matters to discuss!”

“Coran,” groaned Allura.

“Yes, right, this way then, we need some Privacy around here and we are going to get it.”

As it turns out, Privacy was just a stack of boxes out of sight from most of the other officers and pilots. Not much, but it wasn’t like Shiro had any particularly damaging questions to ask either, just—

“Do you know Keith Kogane? Has he come back?”

Coran shook his head. “Hardly anyone can say no to knowing Keith, I’m afraid. And no, he hasn’t yet returned.”

Keith was still out there… in there.  Shiro felt himself deflate.

“Before we go on, Shiro,” said Coran, suddenly grave, “I must remind you that this information is strictly confidential. Teludav Inc. still has the final say on when the details will be released. The overworked folk in the investigative department can only issue times and numbers, no names or photographs.”

“And I need to thank you, Coran.” Allura reached over and patted his hand gratefully.

“Oaw, it’s no biggie! I still owe your father many favours, good man he was. And after all he is my third cousin twice removed…” Coran rubbed his chin. “Or something like that.”

He and Shiro both turned to Allura, who merely shrugged. “Hey, don’t look at me. Family gatherings are a mess, I’ve stopped keeping track.”

It wasn’t long before Shiro got a good idea of what happened. Three people showed up in the Teludav first, and after an hour another two appeared. One of them was a pilot, and they all claimed to be on the same Teludav when they found themselves dreaming, endlessly, only to wake up in a station they’d never been to before.

Coran and his team had no idea what caused this, or why. Pilots and passengers had gone missing for years, though the details continued to be the stuff of a well-worn urban legend. Word amongst the fuzz was that disappearing via Teludav was essentially a death sentence. Not one came back — not until now, where five showed up at once.

Of course, this was all strictly off the record. Before the pilots’ reappearances, nobody could prove that they’d gone missing as a direct result of Teludav operations. Missing people were difficult to keep track of, after all.

“We didn’t have conclusive evidence, unfortunately, even if all the signs point the same way…” The way Coran said it, he almost sounded insincere. Even Allura raised an eyebrow. “No court would admit a case on our findings. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Don’t the police talk about it?” Allura asked.

“We talk about a lot of things,” said Coran with a sly twirl of his moustache. “After the case is over, we could meet up for coffee sometime. Could even bring you to the usual neighbourhood haunt, no liquid eggs this time I promise, and a quiche that reminds me of my old ma’s cooking—”

“Perhaps next time,” said Allura with the haste of the regretfully initiated. “Anyway, drop me a text if you see Keith, can you? Or have you lost your phone again?”

Coran snorted in outrage. “Young lady, I will have you know that your old uncle Coran never forgets where his appliances are! Now off with you. There is much more to prepare for should the other pilots come back!”

They watched Coran straighten his uniform and march towards the rest of the pilots shouting orders and sending people stumbling over themselves to get the work done.

Allura didn’t bat an eyelid as Shiro slowly said, “You have a lot more connections than you let on.”

“My dad was an overachiever,” she said matter-of-factly. “And one more thing. Don’t _ever_ let Coran invite you for coffee near his station. I don’t know what’s in that place, but every time I’ve eaten there my stomach riots.”

“Is it the liquid egg?”

“Probably worse. Best not to ask.”

 

-

 

_/r/TeludavReappearances Teludav Reappearance Live Thread for /r/TeludavApparation_

Live thread. Track people reappearing from the Teludavs. Updates with identities of the reappearing victims. /r/TeludavApparation for hearing rulings and in-depth discussion.

/u/senkeiki

[14:45] Teludav inc and press keeping mum about the reappearance of ten people, six pilots and four pilots. /u/juniper3rd is on the scene updating with photographs, but she can’t get too close. So you have me haha. Photographs are attached in the comment pinned to this one. Unable to confirm the identity of the reappearing people, but it’s clear not all of them are from Tellus station. Apparently, one of the pilots came all the way from Singapore on the other end of the globe. So this is a global phenomenon. Don’t know why everyone is reappearing at Tellus station but I can’t say I’m dismayed. Closer to the action. [2431 comments]

[21:31] Two more pilots showing up. Photographs attached. Pilots incoherent but physically fit. [1289 comments]

[17:02] Portsdown Station: Can confirm one person has appeared at Portsdown Station (coordinates here). A close friend witnessed it. Wasn’t allowed to speak to the victim before the Teludav pilots brought her into the office, but even though she was disoriented she seemed pretty much OK. Wonder which stations will see the reappearing pilots next. [1714 comments]

[23:44] Tellus Central Station: Seven appeared in the last five minutes. One pilot in unstable condition, quickly sent to hospital. Can’t confirm just yet, but heard it’s severe malnutrition and dehydration. Photographs attached. [630 comments]

[03:27] Tellus Central Station: Two passengers reappeared. Both unconscious. Can confirm they’re being brought to Tellus General Hospital. Press is unrelenting. Very distressing even for me. [392 comments]

[11:20] Portsdown Station: One more unconscious pilot. No photographs sorry. [219 comments]

[18:19] Tellus Central Station: Three confused passengers. Allegedly on the Teludav that went missing on 29 Feb. Security has been tightened, nobody else gets into the station. Probably won’t have any more photographs to add at this rate. Pilots looking very heartened today. [749 comments]

[03:34] Tellus Central Station: Five more pilots. Word on the grapevine: they’re insisting it’s 2010. Weird. Don’t know what it is but it’s giving me the creeps lol. Again no photographs. [1282 comments]

[04:12] Tellus Central Station 2010 pilots update: The five pilots were last seen 2010. Can’t divulge source but can confirm credibility. They were told it’s 2020, and now none of them are ok. It’s really sad. Support the pilots, yall. #JUSTICEFORPILOTS [950 comments]

[05:31] Portstown Station: One more pilot. An ambulance is ready and waiting, and nobody would take my questions. She seemed distressed but also relieved to be back. No photographs. [402 comments]

[09:58] Tellus Central Station 2010 pilots update: Their families are here. Don’t know how you folk got them reunited but it’s working wonders. Keep at it, /r/. [1535 comments]

[13:00] Tellus Central Station: Three pilots. Best friends. They’re making a joke out of it, insisting it’s all cool cause they’re time travellers and all. Actually got some laughs. I don’t know about you but these pilots are some of the strongest people I’ve seen in my life. #JUSTICEFORPILOTS. [730 comments]

 

_/r/TeludavApparation_

[23:59] /u/BlackLion

So I’m not here to talk about the hearings, or try to science what happened in Central Systems. I’m here because I feel like I’m going crazy, even though I don’t think I am. I’ve had this text snippet written and waiting for submission for the past two days. I’m probably just going to hit SAVE and sleep for 24 hours so I don’t have to see what kind of response it gets. But ok I’ll just get to it.

Back in 2019 I met the pilot called Keith Kogane. Everyone knows him, I’m aware, but just pretend you don’t. It’s July 2019 and I’m getting ready for the commute when for the first time Kogane suddenly looks really uncomfortable, and I overhear he’s having troubles with the Teludav. Next thing I know, I wake up at Central Station after a harrowing simulation, and I’m 3 minutes late. Kogane insists it wasn’t his fault, and he tried to adapt to the problem as best as he could.

Cut to Feb 2020. Kogane’s back on the pilot roster and the trial for the previous “incident” has just about wrapped up. Kogane has been super flaky on his messages lately, like something else is on his mind. It’s driving me insane. Finally on the 29th he sends me a text that says: It’s my chance to put an end to this. And that’s his last message. Nothing else from him.

Next thing I know, another Teludav is gone and there are reports that Kogane RAN into it moments before its occupants vanished.

And now it’s June. Pilots are re-appearing for no apparent reason. And their passengers too. Thanks to the dedicated reporting over at /r/TeludavReappearances there’s high probability they go as far back as 2010, maybe even earlier.

Here’s the thing. Kogane has had a perfect track record from since he joined the force with the first batch of pilots, way back in 2008. From then until now his score’s at a 100% (99.99%?) success rate for setting up syncs. And I believe him when he says the incident in 2019 was his first and only experience.

And then in June 2020 the one time he willingly runs into the Teludav and goes missing for an extended period of time, people start coming back. And I can confirm there have been NO reappearing pilots for twelve years, not until now.

The only thing I can think of to explain is: Kogane’s doing something in there, in Central Systems or the in-between world (he called it that) and somehow, he’s bringing all the missing people home.

Teludav inc initially kept Kogane around rather than suspending him or transferring him permanently. For his skill for setting up syncs, no less. But they didn’t fire him and that’s what matters, because now he has the opportunity to run in there and start being the change he wants to be.

So I don’t think Kogane’s coming out anytime soon. Maybe he will, when all those who were missing have finally been rescued. Maybe he won’t come back at all.

Yeah. I just needed to say it. I probably sound like a raving nutcase. But here it is. I’m going to drink hard and pass out now. Very unprofessional for someone posting a theory to any /r/ thread, I know there are rules and etiquettes but I don’t know what to think and having some reassurance. Any reassurance. That I’m not just off my rocker from 2 months with minimal sleep. It’d be nice.

In the meanwhile I just want to thank every one of you out there who’s following this saga and helping the pilots find their families. As a victim myself, it really means a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d have done if Keith hadn’t been there to help me.

God damn it, Keith. Please come home. I miss you. It’s killing me when you’re away.

 

Edit: 1500 comments? Guys come on. You’re making me regret posting this on -350 hours of sleep and now I have an overwhelming urge to jump into a hole for eternity

Edit 2: Yes I know I switched to calling Kogane ‘Keith’ near the end. Stop pointing it out or I’ll see you in court

Edit 3: Didn’t want to add such a long ramble to the tag but alright, #JUSTICEFORPILOTS. There. Besides, #BRINGHIMHOME has a much better ring to it.

 

[3794 comments]


	19. Chapter 19

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Monday, 14 December 2020, 13:14 PM.

Shiro could never get used to being on the witness stand. Back in law school, he’d had to squeeze into one when he was roleplaying as an eyewitness for a moot case. It’d felt a little too small then and that hadn’t changed. Not that the witness stand was particularly small, or that he was too broad for it, no. Courtrooms were designed to direct attention to the witness stand and the questioning lawyer, and nothing could make you feel as small as that.

A few paces away, Lotor nodded encouragingly, obviously demonstrating his empathy and patience for the jury. Shiro had no doubt the next few moments were going to be brutal. After all it seemed like Lotor had been been anticipating this moment since the start of the hearing.

“Weren’t you involved in another Teludav related trial, Mr. Shirogane?”

“Yes, I was also the defense lawyer for Teludav Inc. in the trial of  _ Balmera V Teludav Inc. _ This was back in February 2019.”

“Uh huh. As I understand, you and your partner worked very hard to put up a good case, even if it was rather rushed.”

Shiro said curtly, “We did our best.”

There was every reason to be brusque. During any court examination, a single misstep could send you and your case skidding to the grave. Sharp lawyers like Zarkon didn’t even need a whole declaration — a single wrong word could suffice. So Shiro was trying not to give Lotor any ammunition, which was easier said than done, because two lawyers crossing each other made for very,  _ very _ difficult conversation.

They both knew what the jury responded to, what tricks lawyers could use, how everything was a finely-tuned balancing act where the power usually lay  _ outside _ the stand… in the hands of the lawyer controlling the examination. 

And to make matters worse, he and Allura couldn’t pin down why Lotor wanted him up here. 

The lawyer in question leaned against the jury box, silver hair spilling down his shoulder. “Could you tell the jury what the case was about?” 

_ Think, Shiro, think. _

“The case… I was defending Teludav Inc.”

“What did the case come down to, Mr. Shirogane?”

“Mainly that Shay Balmera, the plaintiff — the person who’d sued Teludav Inc. — had signed the conditions of carriage, so it was reasonable to assume she knew the risks beforehand.”

“Pray tell why you agreed to take up the case.” 

What was the purpose of talking about the previous trial, anyway? The results of the previous trial couldn’t be overturned now, not even with new circumstantial evidence. Surely Lotor wasn’t going to put Shiro on trial for representing the opposite side of the house — there’d be no merit to doing something like that.

Across the courtroom, Allura watched and waited for her moment.

“Arus & Lions took up the case because we were approached by the CEO of Teludav Inc., and we couldn’t say no.”

“I heard you were taking a nap while negotiations were underway,” drawled Lotor. 

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean, finding out three years of your life turned out to be a dream… that’s not a pill you can swallow easily.” 

“And by then the outcome of your role had been decided on your behalf?”

“I wouldn’t say  _ decided on my behalf, _ Mr Lotor. It’s true that Allura’s pretty much my boss too, but I trust her to make the best decisions for the firm.”

Lotor gave a longsuffering look to the jury. “I’ll be more direct. If you did have a choice back then, would you or would you not have chosen to represent Teludav Inc.?”

Chosen? What did Shiro’s choice have to do with this trial? 

Shiro glanced at Allura, who was frowning. She’d already caught on. But things always looked clearer from the lawyer’s table. Where Shiro sat, unsure, nervous, and hesitant, the most crucial piece of the puzzle still lay beyond his reach.

It wouldn’t be professional, however, to admit his true feelings to the court, so Shiro had to—

“I’ll remind you, Mr. Shirogane, that you are under oath,” Lotor said without batting an eye. “Please answer my question. Truthfully.”

Shiro felt like he was just about to plunge somewhere dark and infested with sharks, but he  _ was _ on the stand and there were duties to be fulfilled. 

“I would have declined the job.” 

“Could you explain why?”

“I thought it was unfair. People like Shay Balmera deserved fair representation, and I felt like I had a duty to her—”

“Even though you hadn’t met her before?”

“We were on the same Teludav that malfunctioned,” Shiro admitted. 

As if something had been made clear to him suddenly, Lotor straightened. “Ah, so you were a  _ victim.” _

The word dripped from his tongue like oil, wrapped in suffocating pity and disdain. Shiro’s gut recoiled. A whole year had gone by and still he was treated like something that might be broken. His voice came out too stiff, guarded, “Are you insinuating I lack the professionalism to represent a client fairly, counsel?”

“No,” said Lotor casually. “I’m just wondering if you’ve  _ really _ gotten over it, or whether you still have a little grudge whispering directions into your ear.”

“Objection,” shouted Allura. “Leading, assumptuous, speculative—”

“Sit down, counsel,” Zarkon said, at the same time Lotor smirked, “Oh, counsel, I did warn you didn’t I?”

_ Grudge. _

This wasn’t a matter of professionalism — it was a matter of motive.

And Shiro had played straight into Lotor’s hands. To the jury, Shiro was one of  _ those  _ people: not only had he been a victim, he’d been holding a one-year grudge that had to surface sooner or later.

With Zarkon glaring over the bench, Allura was forced to sit and Lotor coyly straightened to resume the examination. Motive,  _ motive… _ Shiro had dealt this exact hand to Balmera as well, and it’d been the deciding factor in that trial. Even so, that case and this one were different. There must be some way to turn it around.

“I also hear you’ve also gotten in touch with a victim support group, organised by a friend of yours?”

Shiro exhaled in frustration but answered, “Yes, Shay Balmera invited me over.”

“You’re friends with all the victims too, then?”

“Not personally, but I have continued to meet them every month or so, when Shay organises it.” 

“And how is that going?”

Shiro smirked. “Pretty good, they have a little potluck each time. But I can’t bake, so I just bring a healthy dose of existential dread and perpetual regret to the table.” 

“My, you must be delightful at parties,” deadpanned Lotor. “Let’s see, you were also seen many times during the pro-pilot demonstrations at Central Tellus Station. Why were you there?”

To call it pro-pilot demonstrations was a bit of a stretch, actually. The handful of times Shiro had been in the thick of it, it felt more like a vain effort to protect what little Teludav Inc. still owned. What little Keith needed to come home—

Keith.

Lotor tilted his head. “Counsel?” 

Shiro knew what he had to do. He met Allura’s gaze, hoping she got the drift of what his strategy was.

“The pro-pilot demonstrations, huh?” 

Shiro paused to collect his thoughts. It was the first time he was going to try anything as foolhardy as this, and he didn’t know if it’d work, but he would never get another chance on the stand and he needed to—

“The very first ‘demonstration’ wasn’t really a demonstration, counsel, it was more a response to violence. You saw the news, I’m sure. There were some anti-Teludav, anti-teleporter folk who were determined to destroy all the machines, even while the pilots and other victims were still lost. I was around the area actually, with a bunch of other strangers, so we just headed there at the first signs of trouble. The first demonstration wasn’t by any means planned. That’s what I was doing there, like you asked.”

Lotor paused. Just a little, but long enough to be telling. 

No witness would willingly divulge more than what was asked, unless there was an underlying purpose. Indeed Shiro’s sudden verbosity was his own trap, and this time it was Lotor who couldn’t see where it led.

“And you have continued to attend these demonstrations, even while  _ this _ trial is underway?”

“Of course,” said Shiro, sounding a touch offended that Lotor should even ask him this question, “A trial can take  _ years _ to see its end. And I think I’m a little more invested in the wellbeing of the pilots than your average guy. In fact, many of the other victims usually show up for those too, even though you might think these victims would feel nothing but resentment.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Lotor looked as neutral and composed as ever, but the question  _ had _ come out strained, and that was when it was clear Lotor knew he was fast running out of rope.

“Because those pilots are human too. We’d be monsters to think they weren’t suffering as much as us. This trial is about victims like me, and about the pilots that had no say in their involvement.”

Shiro smirked. Lotor’s lips pursed. 

“No more questions.”

The abrupt turnabout was exactly what Shiro had been waiting for. It was an admission that Lotor was trying to quit while he was ahead, to minimise the damage.

Now it was Allura’s turn to drive home the final nail in the coffin.

 

-

 

Allura stood up with a brown folder in hand. “Your honour, I would like to admit a new piece of evidence to the court, on appeal. It is of utmost importance to my cross.”

On the stand, Shiro had to physically stop himself from jerking upright.

New evidence? How had he never heard of this before? And how come Allura never told him about it? 

With a sigh telling of the one too many times he’d seen this happen, Zarkon said, “And what bearing does this have on previous testimony? Should it change the outcome, a retrial is in order—”

“No bearing at all, your honour.” She strode forward and handed the folder to the clerk. “It was written two months ago, on the 30th of October…”

Something cold and dreadful touched Shiro at the back of his neck—

“… and it would play a major role in ensuring a fair riposte to Mr. Lotor’s statements about my fellow attorney.”

—gradually crept down the skin of his back and arms—

“Very well, counsel. I’ll allow it. Make sure all relevant parties have a copy. Now, begin your cross.”

—and settled in the base of his gut.

Allura, his long time friend, partner in law and in crime, walked up to the witness stand. She was badly smothering a grin. Unfortunately, this was one of her trademark grins that trouble was coming to  _ him _ and she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

_ Oh god, Allura. What have you done. Is there time for me to pray? _

“Shiro,” she said lightly.

“Allura,” he replied, already withering on the inside.

Behind Allura, the Lotor had finally gotten a copy of the new evidence. A silver eyebrow raised, slowly, followed by a flick of those pale eyes and a  _ ‘this has got to be some kind of joke’ _ expression that vanished shortly after it appeared.

_ Ah, guess there’s no time for prayer, after all. _

“Mr. Lotor has spent a lot of time talking about what you did. Now I want to talk about you.”

Okay, this was not too bad a start. “Sure?”

“I’ll start with an easy question. What was your relationship with Keith Kogane?”

This was immediately followed by a bout of hacking and coughing because something went down the wrong way and what the hell he was not prepared for a question like that, what on earth was Allura doing? 

Well, she had her arms folded and was clearly waiting patiently for an answer.

No,  _ no, _ this was ridiculous. Why here? In front of the jury? The judge? The  _ press?  _

“Allura, you can’t be serious,” he said hoarsely.

“I am serious, Mr. Shirogane.” She was blatantly smiling now. “Please state for the court your relationship with Mr. Kogane.”

Shiro looked at Lotor, who shrugged coolly  _ (sorry not sorry pal, opposing counsel can’t help you, you’re on your own) _ and then at Zarkon, who merely tapped his fingers with rapidly dwindling patience.

“I… I don’t know,” Shiro admitted after a painful second.

“An estimate would suffice as well, Mr. Shirogane.” 

Man, a one-way ticket to that faulty Teludav would be perfect right about now.

“There wasn’t a relationship to be had, counsel. Even as much as I wanted the opposite to be true. And yes, I guess we were friends, but we were… more than that, I want to believe.”

Heat was creeping up the back of his neck, his ears and cheeks. 

“Is that answer satisfactory, counsel?”

“Ehh, it’s…  _ okay,” _ said Allura, sounding wholly and completely unimpressed. To his left, the jury had unabashedly perked up, all eyes on him. 

“Well, what do you want,” Shiro grumbled.

“Could you read a little of the new evidence I just submitted? It’s quite exciting even if I do say so myself.” 

Shiro stared down at the document that the clerk handed him, and he realised that he would be dying here, in this very courtroom, in front of the whole world to see.

“Could you read the marked paragraph, please?” 

Shiro didn’t even need to look. He knew it by heart. His voice quivered (out of embarrassment or emotion not even he could tell) —

_ “God damn it, Keith. Please come home. I miss you. It’s killing me when you’re away.” _

And before he even finished, a horrified gasp escaped one of the jurors. All heads turned. Shiro did too, face burning, probably looking like someone trying to swallow a dried leather sandal caked with sawdust, and didn’t take even a second to find the perpetrator. She had her hands clasped over her mouth in shock and badly-concealed excitement. 

Guess she’d read it.

Without skipping a beat Allura said, “Thank you, Shiro. This was posted by a user by the nickname of Black Lion, is that you?”

“Unfortunately,” said Shiro, utterly defeated. 

With a grin, “Watch a lot of Voltron, huh?’

He paused. “Uh, I’m going to go with probably a little too much.”

“Objection,” Lotor called out, “Never too much Voltron.”

“And irrelevant,” said Zarkon darkly. “This mutual embarrassment had better be relevant to the case at hand, counsel.”

“It is!” Allura gestured for Shiro to continue. “It’s clear that Pilot Kogane’s disappearance has had a significant impact for you. Now, I want you to tell me how Pilot Kogane is linked to this case.”

This was the question Shiro had been wanting to answer since he figured out Lotor’s strategy. But couched like this, it felt too intimate suddenly, like he was going to read out his fifth grade love letter  _ TO MY DARLING PILOT RED _ in front of the whole court. Suddenly all the words were too much and not enough at once.

“Mr. Shirogane? Could you tell the court if Pilot Kogane has influenced your dealing with this case in any way?”

What a simple question, yet the answer was more difficult to answer than anything he’d been thrown in court before. 

Hell, even outside court, he’d been trying to avoid the more implicit question completely —

_ What did Keith mean to you, Shiro? _

Because how could he even begin to answer? Keith was the void in his chest and the absence that he returned to every night, when he remembered that he was in an imperfect world driven by inhumane motivations and an uncaring system of pulleys and cogs.

Keith was the fear he felt every time he made alternate half-day long plans to visit someone out of town. 

Keith was, Keith was…

“Initially, back when I thought about this question a while ago, my answer would’ve been that he didn’t influence anything. That taking on this particular case was my own decision.”

He wrung his fingers in his lap. They were cold as ice.

“But now I guess… I can’t run from my feelings any more.”

“Yeah,” said Allura, “You were doing that only a lot.” Shiro glared and she immediately raised her hands,  _ “Alright, _ withdrawn.” 

There really was no escaping from the truth, was there? The truth was irrefutable: he’d begun to consider himself Keith’s keeper, even though the pilot was really the last person who’d needed protection from anything. 

Keith was a light all on his own.

“I took up this case partially because I wanted to make sure the pilots got a fair trial.”

He looked up at the rest of the court, the cameras, the jury, and thought about how it’d be like if he could say this to the one person that mattered most, how he might be able to see the exact moment when his joy bloomed and he could hold it back no longer.

“But I’m also fighting this case because I want to help build the world that Keith dreamed of. One where he’s safe. One where he won’t be sad, or be ashamed of piloting. It’s not too much to ask, is there?

“Yes, it’s motive. But I’d rather pick a motive like  _ hope and love  _ over a motive like  _ grudges and hatred _ any day. And if that means loving Keith with all my heart, then I don’t regret it in the slightest.”


	20. Chapter 20

The address on the key led him five hours out of town. 

Since commute via Teludav was faster and cheaper, Shiro had never learned how to drive. Growing up with the teleporter boom meant cars no longer embodied the same convenience and immediacy it used to. Plus,  _ congestion. _ Shiro got stuck in traffic once when he was younger. An overall unpleasant experience, not least because he and everyone else in the car found out at the same time that he was predisposed to road rage.

A three hour train ride and two hour bus transfer found him at a dusty cul de sac in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Dry cliffs rose out of the parched ground in all directions, giving the impression of a shattered clay bowl. Before him slouched a sun-baked gas station and, further back behind pumps and a row of metal parts, a garage with flaking paint and windows tinted to keep the heat out. He could barely make out the cracked signboard:  _ RAPID SAL. _

Thumbing the key, he made his way to the entrance and peered in. Grease stained the air, putrid and cloying. 

“Hello?”

This was followed by a muffled crash from somewhere inside, and a string of something so colourful Shiro could only think to call it  _ trucker talk. _ Said talker finally emerged, a formidable combination of scowl and muscle. Judging from the heavy-duty spanner in his meaty fist, he was the head mechanic (engineer?) and the owner of the place. 

One glance was all it took for the guy to decide he didn’t really like Shiro very much. But Shiro couldn’t really blame him. It’d been a mistake to come out in jeans. Really, almost anything else would’ve made for less melty travel. Not to mention, places like these weren’t exactly on his bucket list — it was the furthest Shirogane  _ city-slicker _ Takashi had ever been away from anywhere air-conditioned. Shiro was over baked by the sun and out of place.

“Well?” he raised a thick eyebrow. “What can I do you for?”

Oh, Shiro’d been staring. He cleared his throat. “Um, I have a key.” He held it up. “I think it’s for one of the vehicles here.” 

“You a thief? Cuz if you are I gots to shoot you.” 

The man’s lip was quirked: a joke, Shiro assumed, even if it didn’t sound remotely like one. 

“I’m actually a lawyer,” said Shiro in jest, then stepped back with his hands up as the guy swung around with murder in his eyes.

_ “Lawyer?” _

Hurriedly, “I’m not here to sue anyone! I’m here on behalf of a friend! I just need to know what this key opens! Maybe a door? Maybe even a safe or a locker here?”

The guy strode over, gaze dark. 

Shiro gulped but there was no choice but to soldier on, “Okay, not those then, or maybe a drawer? A toolbox? A… a padlock? Window?”

Muscle swiped for the key and Shiro immediately stepped beyond arm’s reach, defensive. Nobody else was touching Keith’s key.

“Hey,” said the man sourly. “I just gots to know what kind of key it is, is all, can’t tell what lock it’s for if you wave it everywhere except my lookers.”

Shiro hesitated, but relented and handed the key over. He could probably take this guy on, but it was also probably best not to when the key still withheld its secrets. 

Actually, it was probably also better to soothe the tension a little. Who knew if he still needed the guy’s help. “Sorry for the, uh, the rude introduction. My name’s Shiro.”

The man looked up, surprised. “Oh,  _ that _ Shiro?”

Shiro stopped breathing. “What—”

“Jeez, Sal, ’course it’s that Shiro, you should’ve known. It’s the age, man, gots to be.  _ Shiro! _ Come on in.” 

All bad airs between them gone, the man —  _ Sal? _ — gestured and led Shiro further into the workshop. Taking great pains not to step on oil stains was a fruitless task and Shiro just resolved to clean his sneakers properly when he got home. The workshop was cluttered with robot hearts, steel and iron and unfitted bolts, wheels and handlebars and unblinking lamps. 

Nothing remotely Teludav-ish about this place. 

“So what’re you doing here, Shiro? Heard you was more of a bookish kinda guy.” 

“Well, uh, I got that key from a friend—”

“A  _ friend, _ huh,” Sal snorted, and it made Shiro’s gut twist. “Anyways, yeah, Keith’s got an old bike out back sitting for a good half year now, and I needs the room. Came at a good time, you did.”

“A good time how?” 

Shiro tripped over a wire and Sal hauled him upright with one arm. Shiro just tried to play it casual when the guy continued without missing a beat, “I gots a policy round here, anything untouched for three months goes. Metal moves pretty fast in these parts. Tried to hold the bike for a while but, you know, people’s been asking for the engine every few days.”

“The engine? What for?”

“Drag,” said Sal.

Shiro stared. Try as he might he could not figure out how metal engines challenged any form of sexual heteronormativity. 

Sal rolled his eyes. “The  _ other _ drag, pal. You know? Tire rubbing, flying red, kissing asphalt? Come on, street racing!”

“Oh right,” said Shiro. “Yes, that.” 

Sal’s lip curled. “Can’t believe you’re the guy that Keith sent for this.”

_ What? _

They stopped in front of another door. This one had a heavy lock on it. Shiro moved to unlock the door with the key — Keith’s key — but Sal beat him to it with one of the many at his belt. Soundlessly the door swung inwards. 

Fluorescent lamps rattled before bottle-green light flooded the room. Under the gradually whitening light and thin fabric cover, an odd-shaped vehicle waited. 

Hesitantly, he walked up and tugged at the cloth. The soft material fell from the machine’s sleek sides without protest. 

_ Red. _

A hoverbike. Tail raised, wing fans spread, its seat ready and waiting for flight. 

Yet another one of the things straight out of Shiro’s dreams. He’d only ever heard about street racing. Fiercely illegal in the major cities, even grazing the speed limit on hoverbike was reason enough for a vicious fine and permanently getting your license revoked. 

“This is…?” 

“Yup,” said Sal. He gave the silent machine a fond stroke. “A beaut, ain’t she? Keith came round every few weeks to let her run and breathe, polish her up. Built her from scratch, he did.” 

“And he races?”

“He races,” said Sal as affirmation, though there was too much loaded in his words for Keith’s brand of  _ racing _ to be a common feat. “That,” he nodded at the key, “Goes in there.”

A slot for an ignition key.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Shiro gestured frantically, “What am I supposed to do with this? Bring it home? I can’t drive!”

“Good. Cuz those who start off in cars make  _ godawful _ fliers.” 

“That’s not what I meant, I can’t take this. I live in an  _ apartment, _ not someplace with a nice front yard to park in!”

“Well, you either take it or it gets taken apart,” said Sal apologetically, though it was clear he’d already spent too much of his patience to be empathetic. “Just… take her for one last spin or something and make up your mind. S’not hard, kinda like riding a bicycle.”

It took a lot more persuasion and protests (and a meaningful wave of Sal’s spanner) before Shiro finally and gingerly climbed into the pilot’s seat. Obviously, he didn’t fit. The padded backrest was loathe to forget the shape of Keith’s slight shoulders, the handlebars were too short, and the UI shone an eye-searing electric green. Shiro’s least favorite color in the world. 

All that ceased to matter once he slotted the key into its slot and twisted. 

The hoverbike thrummed, a steady and terrifically melodious sound. He could  _ feel _ it warming up component by component like an animal testing every limb as it awoke. Statuses on the UI switched from  _ Initializing _ to  _ Ready _ and the garage suddenly lit from the bottom up by the hoverbike’s cyan innards. 

When Shiro reached out to grasp the throttle the machine  _ purred _ at the attention, so starved for a human touch and the caress of wind across its wings. 

“Wow,” said Shiro softly.

“Wow’s right,” said Sal. “A fine beast for a fine flier. Don’t think I’ll ever see a chap like him again. Think he’ll come back?”

“Hope so,” said Shiro, and the hoverbike crooned like it’d heard. Before Sal could say anything else Shiro continued, “Is it really fine if I took it for a ride?”

Sal shrugged and flicked a switch on the wall. The bruised light of sunset spilled in under the rising garage door. “Not really, but just go. Make sure you gots your phone, if you die out there I ain’t gonna search.”

And because that sounded like such a sorry and dismal way to die, Shiro treaded on the foot gear shift, lifted the bike into the air, and hit the dusty road for his joyride.

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Friday, February 26 2021, 16:30 PM.

Even though Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc. wasn’t the first time lawyers would deliver closings after new circumstantial evidence came to light, it was certainly one of the few cases where the new evidence was so outlandishly altering that an appeal and retrial would be in order. 

As the gavel crashed and Zarkon begin proceedings people all around the world waited anxiously with bated breath for news to reach them. Not least because it was the last time to hear the lawyers clash one last time before the jury retired for its deliberation, no — they wanted to know how vehemently Teludav Inc.’s attorney would ignore the truth, and whether Arus & Lions would use it to win the day.

_ The last thing I remember is getting into a Teludav. … _

_ Was I dreaming? Why’d I have to wake up? …   _

_ … and now, here I am.  _

From the hundreds who had reappeared, not one testimony went against the grain. 

And this knowledge hung over the courtroom of Tellus District Court, stifling like a corpse’s pale robes and damning like rigour mortis, as defense stood to give his closing.

“It’s been a long nine months, hasn’t it? What have we been doing? Quibbling over a game of you said, I said. When out there, people are fighting to address the issues that matter more.” 

Lotor, Champion of the people, stood in the middle of the room, sombre and genuine and sad.

“Today ends nine long months of frustration. And in this time we’ve seen pilot after pilot go up on the stand to be trialed and, well, you can’t get a straight answer out of any of these testimonies. What’s fact, and what’s not? 

“Does it matter? Perhaps to the defendants, it doesn’t. But when you want to charge a company for lying and scamming its pilots, surely you must substantiate your claims with a healthy dose of cold, hard truth. 

“What then, did we gather from the testimonies of pilots like Hunk? Not much, just some…  _ faint _ suspicion that maybe, Teludav Inc. caused the disappearance of roughly ten pilots. 

“Not only do they lack conclusive evidence that it was my client at fault, they constantly imply that these events were the intended result of years of meticulous planning and testing in a relatively unexplored field. 

“When you go in there to deliberate, think about the people who want for nothing more than to improve the lives of people around the globe. If you must find my client guilty, I humbly ask you to be reasonable. People make mistakes. So do pilots… and so do the hard working folk staffing Teludav Inc. Forgive them, because the rest of the world won’t.”

Without looking back, Lotor raised a hand to Shiro’s table and pointed. Shiro blinked.

“If you find my client guilty, remember that opposing counsel has openly admitted to having a  _ motive _ for running this case. A hidden agenda. Think carefully before you endorse turning a global issue into a lover’s futile pining.”

Lotor drew a slow, pensive breath. 

“Members of the jury. I implore you. This transport system might be an empire but it is an empire that has, for many years, served you well. I only ask that you give Teludav Inc. the fair and just trial it deserves.”

 

-

 

Rooting about Keith’s things hadn’t exactly been on Shiro’s mind. Keith seemed like an intensely private person and to simply… peek into the last slivers of his life seemed like a wholly inconsiderate thing to do. So the box had sat patiently beside the stack of case notes on Shiro’s desk at home, a reminder for what Shiro wanted to do — what Shiro wanted to do  _ for Keith. _

However, one specific photo that made Shiro  _ want _ to try figuring Keith out a little more. It was the cover image of a Facebook post (yes, Shiro still used Facebook, he was an old soul in certain ways, okay) —

A sleek crimson silhouette. Torso close to the hoverbike underneath him, the rider’s sleek forms mirrored the graceful curves of the hoverbike beneath him. The shot was dark and grainy but even half-lidded by his visor there was no mistaking that bright, wild grin.

The photograph was labelled  _ Keith Kogane: Street Racer Red. _

Now this was the kind of person he wanted Keith to be remembered by.

Half a bottle of gin and a monstrous pep talk later, Shiro carefully cut the duct tape holding the box together, took a deep breath, and lifted the cover.

Besides the key to the hoverbike, the box was also stuffed full with Keith’s leather jacket and several black shirts, a dagger with an odd biting edge, a bottle containing a handful of seeds, and an old iPod without any juice. 

The experience wasn’t quite like pouring over the valuables of someone who’d recently departed. Shiro had done that once when his grandmother passed and again when grief sent his father the same way. There were no nostalgic photographs, no precious memorabilia, no too-personal effects to look at with face tilted away.

Shiro realised then that he didn’t know Keith’s address. He didn’t  _ want _ to know. Because he didn’t want to do the same for Keith, not yet.

The jacket smelled like Keith. The dagger opened a cut on Shiro’s fourth finger. The next day Shiro would go to the store and buy a bag of soil to plant all the seeds along his windowsill, beside the steadily-growing lily. Eventually he would have a window-box of assorted wildflowers, and not a single red one. Although when they were all grown they’d make for a beautiful sight.

For now, though, Shiro just decided to go where the key would take him. 

That seemed like quite a Keith thing to do.

 

-

 

Giving the closing for  _ Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc., _ however, had always been a  _ Shiro _ thing to do. 

There’d been no dispute from the start, and in fact Allura had insisted on planning their entire case around this inevitable moment. 

Which was how Shiro found himself facing the shield and crest of the Tellus High Court, the golden laurels and the three lions flanking the herald — the beasts of justice, fairness, and liberty.

And the doers of these ideals waited in the jury box, silently, patiently, as impassive as a jury could be. 

From here you could only see Shirogane Takashi in profile, the dark shadows under his eyes and the firm set of his jaw as he grappled with monsters only he could see. As the months passed he became something like the overworked college senior you admired from one hallway down for his dogged conviction and the ability to function purely on adrenaline and willpower. So when hurts years old finally surfaced in his expression it appeared as a shadow that took the light from his gaze, and it was the kind of look you’d wish would quickly go away.

Shirogane’s voice rang out firm and doubtless, and though he stood tall and brave you’d suspect that his eyes were moist. 

“When I first stepped into Central Tellus Station I was overwhelmed. Those towering pillars. The gorgeous circular platforms. Rustic bricks and clean concrete. It was both scifi and not very scifi at all.”

The lawyer held up an imaginary slip of paper.

“I had a ticket, somewhere to be, and a question on my mind: Will this…  _ thing _ really teleport me across the world? Well, it seems like the answer is yes. Everything is efficient, well-practiced, professional. I’m moved to the platform and to my Teludav on a clockwork schedule.”

That grey gaze turned inwards as he retreated into a memory surely more comforting than the reality of today. Shirogane did that a lot in this trial, and you’d always ache to know what lay on the other side.

“I see my pilot for the first time, and I realise  _ Wow, he is really young. _ I mean, he’s got a kinda dumb, kinda cute mullet too—” a chuckle from the courtroom and Shirogane’s face pinked just a little, — “But more importantly he’s fresh out of college young, and considering this pilot is responsible for my fate through time and space, that young is  _ really _ very young.

“But he’s also looking at me with this… expression. In fact it takes me a while to realise that wait, these pilots aren’t  _ bored, _ they’re asking,

_ “Why are you here? Get out while you can.” _

Pausing to run fingers unconsciously through the white of his fringe, Shirogane let out a strained little half-laugh. Somewhere in the last few minutes his gaze had gone haunted.

“Of course, because I already have a ticket and someplace to be, I don’t. I just assume they hate their job, because who’d sign up for a job that they know will kill them in the end, right? They must just be in it for the fame, or the novelty of the profession. Right?

“I wish it were that simple. If only these pilots  _ could _ go anywhere they wanted in the world, instead of being bound to their stations by a contract. If only they weren’t legally bound to silence. Bound to a fate of watching the rest of us go on our commutes without knowing if we’ll make it out the other side.”

Another breath and this time there was no doubt, from the quiver in his voice and the watery sheen across his gaze, that unlike the previous attorney everything this one felt was more than real.

“I’ll come clean. Lotor’s right. I’m here because of Keith. I refuse to believe that my decision makes it wrong.

“I’m here because Teludav Inc. isn’t going to protect him. Teludav Inc. isn’t going to protect  _ anyone. _ And I don’t know about you but if my friend or loved one vanished into the ether I’d find myself here each time.

“Standing before you, needing your help.”

Shirogane’s throat bobbed.

“Six years of law school and four years of practice and even if I got a million more, nothing can change unless  _ you _ let it.

“Ten minutes in the Teludav can change someone’s life forever. These pilots have been at it for years, long before anyone else knew the kind of suffering they went through—”

As if suddenly coming back to himself, Shirogane closed his eyes to gather his composure. It was a momentous effort. The silence of the courtroom was so deafening you could hear hearts drop. Forever and a day later, Shirogane finally continued, quietly,

“This trial has never been about who represents the best interests of humanity. It’s about those who disappeared so unfairly from our grasps. It’s about welcoming long lost friends. It’s about giving our pilots a place to come home. 

“It’s about us — about you and me. It’s about the day if we ever end up in there with them, and whether this is a world we’d want to come home to.”

 

-

 

Sal  _ was _ right — hoverbike and bicycle didn’t feel all that different. 

Except that Shiro was tearing down Route 09 at 400 km/h and there wasn’t a bell on the handlebar. The hoverbike was like a wild animal — two hundred kilos of carnal power and a voracious appetite for distance. It was so well built that it seemed to read Shiro’s movements, every turn or swerve or tilt, even before Shiro was even conscious of it. Responsive and vocal, eager to please, the hoverbike was unlike anything Shiro ever had the privilege of being carried by.

There was no doubt this machine belonged to Keith. It matched the pilot’s ferocity of spirit. It crushed every word those in the Garrison had ever uttered about Keith. 

He could really get used to this — the sensation of absolute freedom to move as he pleased, the thrill of walking the razor’s edge between life and death, the knowledge that somehow Keith had honed him into the best version of himself, even without being here. And maybe, a little further on, 

the faint possibility that Keith was already where he was fated to be.

The verdict of the case would be released soon, after all, and once that happened Teludav Inc. might be ordered to cease all Teludav operations permanently, whether or not people would still emerge from its bottomless insides.

Fierce reds and purples mottled the sky as Shiro threw his head back and wished for a sign that would never come, as he whispered his hopes to the unhearing winds, as the red machine beneath him sung, bright and oblivious and crystalline. 


	21. Chapter 21

“Excuse my language,” said Allura, ‘But what in infernal outlandish hell made you decide that my bed of daffodils, the lovely flowers that I have so laboriously curated with my sweat, blood, tears, and my own two hands, would be even remotely suitable as a landing pad for this gargantuan piece of floating machinery?”

They both peered up at the hoverbike’s tail.

Shiro said, “I did warn you I was parking a big vehicle.”

“My driveway can fit two cars.” Allura flung an arm out and pointed. “But _not_ a hoverbike.”

Well, alright, so it _was_ a little oversized. The main engine wasn’t all that bulky, but since the wings and tails flared out for maximum lift and balance there wasn’t much left of Allura’s front yard. Her bungalow was a decent size, but even then the hoverbike made it look that much smaller. After all, it wasn’t common for families in respectable suburbs to own the vehicles piloted by inner city hooligans.

“It’s not _that_ out of place, I mean, it’s a good conversation starter.”

To make her point Allura edged into its huge shadow away from the sun, and glared.

“Aw, come on, Allura, I had to take it home or it’d be disassembled!”

“Disassembled? Now that’s a thought. I do own several hacksaws and a sledgehammer. And when I’m done I could pass the remainder off as abstract art. Titled, _Why My Friend Hates Me.”_

Shiro folded his arms. “Don’t make me invoke _it.”_

It only took a second for Allura to puff up in indignation. “No, you can’t cash in on something like this.”

“I can and I will. Because you do owe me one. I still dream about having to wear that many shirts at once, and I forgot how to walk properly for days.”

Allura groaned and leaned her head against the hoverbike’s tail. “You don’t even have a license.”

“Well, surprise,” he grinned, pulling out a slip of paper with a flourish. “Sal knew a guy who knew a guy. Said I’d make a good flier and that I learned freakishly fast. Isn’t that great?”

“No, not really.”

“Please, Allura? It’ll be a month tops, I promise, I’m already looking out for a permanent parking space. Once that’s done, I’ll come over and help you do your gardening.”

They gazed at the several dozens of bright daffodils crushed beneath the hoverbike.

“Oh, al-riiiight,” said Allura. “But if you get this vehicle impounded I will be the first one who says _Ha ha, told you so.”_

“Well, it’s Keith’s, so I will be doing everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

 _“Right!_ Of course it’s his. You know you could’ve just told me that and I’d have agreed,” she said with a wry smile, meaningfully, purposefully, like things were somehow falling into place.

As she headed back inside Shiro could only blink and then stare, dumbfounded, not really understanding what Keith had to do with any of this but somehow inexplicably satisfied that Keith had everything to do with this. A pattern was beginning to emerge: everything revolving around Keith was somehow equally as baffling as the pilot was, and for some reason Shiro was all too willing to simply let it settle the score.

He could live with this.

 

-

 

“Shiro and Allura, yes? Yes! I have been waiting for you. Considering you are neither alien nor fitted with robot cybernetics I declare this reality one of the few where things will remain dire rather than escalate into utter cataclysmic disaster.”

Dumbfounded, the two lawyers in question could only stare.

The man before them scratched at a dried beard. “I ran the numbers you see,” he said, and it sounded like it was supposed to be an adequate explanation.

“This is Slav,” said MarmoraTech correspondent Ulaz, with just a touch of fondness reserved for the kind of things you wanted to get rid of but for one reason or another couldn’t, “He’s one of the brightest minds at the leading edge of transportation research.”

“No you,” said Slav, then slammed a hand on his desk and declared to the tens of other engineers hunched over their computers, “Folks we can now move out of our doomsday scenario and into Emergency Code Four Point Seven!”

This was followed by chorused unhurried variations of _Oh goodie what a grand relief_ and _Wow I never thought this day would come_ and also _Well that’s a good day’s work gone._

Promptly losing interest in the new arrivals Slav returned to his mutterings about complex mass and uncondensed matter, and Shiro was thankful closing statements had already been given and there would be no more science in his lawsuits, at least not any time in the near future. Now Shiro was no expert on the geography of desks or working spaces, but in the same unwieldy mess of annotated papers and dog-eared notebooks he saw echoes of Pidge’s workspace. There was no doubt that the pilot had the same otherworldly brightness to one day create ripples across the field of academia like her brother and father did.

Unlike Pidge, though, Slav was rifling through a box of handwritten notes in a vaguely rodent-like manner and Shiro only had it in him to feel concerned. Before he could say anything, Ulaz spoke up.

“Thank you for coming. Did you draft up the acquisition document like I’d requested?”

“Yes, but we must warn you. It is a risky move,” said Allura. “Like I told you over the phone, acquisition might backfire. The public will definitely make strong demands on the teleportation industry and there’s no telling what the politicians in the White Castle will do after the ruling is announced.”

“And that is what I have been telling Ulaz even before he set up this meeting on such short notice.”

The voice belonged to a heavily-built man named Kolivan. Shiro had seen his face on the MarmoraTech website and initially had thought him a criminal. The deep frown lines and deep scar looked even more intimidating in person. Behind him was Antok who stood one full head taller and broader, more bouncer than engineer. And not being able to see the face under the dark purple hoodie didn’t help.

“Without informing us,” Kolivan continued, with a meaningful look at Ulaz.

“It is in our favour to strike while the iron is hot,” said Ulaz. He had the sharp gaze of someone used to counting and recounting the odds of something failing, accentuated by his cropped mohawk of bleached hair.

Kolivan said, “We have been following the developments of Teludav’s pilot scandal since the first pilot’s disappearance. We can wait for the ruling.”

“Actually not to claim credit but I was the one who urged Ulaz to get the acquisition nailed down as soon as possible,” said Slav.

From beside Shiro’s ear.

Shiro yelped and stumbled against Antok — _the guy’s back was as hard as brick_ — as Slav edged into his personal space with an odd raccoon-like boldness and a matching agility. Slav peered at Shiro’s scar, his ears, his eyes, then twisted away and declared,

“These two lawyers have gone through exactly the right combinations of events for there to be a 65% percent chance that the acquisition will be successful with an additional 20% increase if the ruling goes in our favour while it would only drop to 54% if Teludav Inc. is declared not guilty.”

Patiently, as if understanding fully that lesser minds needed more time to catch up, Slav waited for a response.

Finally, Ulaz said, “Told you.”

Kolivan let out a longsuffering sigh, clearly this was an old argument. “That tells us only probabilities, not whether we _should_ or _shouldn’t_ do things.”

“And speaking of probabilities it would double our chances of acquiring Teludav Inc.’s properties if we ask once before the trial and again after just like brushing your teeth once in the morning and once before bed. Everything in this reality happens for a reason and in the reality where brushing teeth thrice daily is the norm a fluoride shortage led to a planet-wide freakout over dental hygiene amidst an incriminating hydrogen peroxide scandal and tragically 80% of the population finally bought into the toothpaste conspiracy with a further 10% perishing from the dehydration that resulted.”

“Thank you, Slav,” said Ulaz. “Look, Kolivan, we’ve always had the better minds behind the machine. We can make lives better for billions of people and prevent thousands from going missing ever again.”

“Or we could simply wait for Teludav Inc. to implode and set up our own company later.”

Shiro and Allura exchanged glances. Local disputes were out of their job description — they were mercenaries, not peacemakers. Beside them, childishly oblivious, Slav watched the back and forth with interest.

Carefully edging away so Slav was out of his personal space, Shiro asked lowly, “Excuse me, sir? Are you a lawyer?”

“No,” said Slav, and the way he said it made Shiro wonder if he’d been talking nonsense all his life, “I’m a physical cosmologist specialising in multi-dimensional quantum topology grounded in knot theory.”

“None of those words makes sense to me, but okay,” said Shiro. “I apologise if I offended you.”

“Very good,” said Slav. “Manners are instrumental in the smooth transition of property so if I recalibrate the input factors our chance of success will increase by naught-point-four. For the record these are very good odds and I wholly endorse this plan.”

“Well, I do not,” said Kolivan.

“I will fight you.” Slav peered up with wide eyes. “In another reality I am a surprisingly aggressive and competent eight-armed fighter proficient in firearms with agility and a threatening extra caudal limb that can defeat transdimensional oppressors using nothing but pure blunt force.”

“And in this reality there will be no fighting,” said Allura smoothly, stepping in between them.

Antok, who had stayed silent this entire time, stepped out from behind Kolivan and Shiro was preparing himself to get beaten into a pulp when Allura glared into the darkness under that hoodie, and then Shiro knew no further violence would result.

She continued calmly, “Not to overlook Slav’s very helpful statistics, but coming from a purely legal perspective there are benefits of approaching Teludav Inc. with this proposal to buy over the company. If we play our cards right, we can land Teludav Inc. with a hefty fine _and_ buy them out for very little.”

Kolivan folded his arms while Ulaz tried and failed not to exude satisfaction.

Slav clapped his hands. “Diplomacy,” he said to Allura. “You must be a space princess in another reality.”

“Are you sure that’s not me?” Shiro teased.

“Oh no, in another reality you are an unlucky chap with a mullet—”

“Okay, that’s not too bad,” said Shiro.

“That’s not all. You also have a horrible Scandinavian accent —”

“Ha,” snorted Allura.

“And apparently you live in a universe where space hospitals are not only necessary for the wound you receive but also commonplace enough to suggest that it is conflict-ridden and extremely stressful.”

“Yeah,” said Ulaz with sympathy, “It’s best not to ask about these things.”

“And anyway, back to the acquisition,” said Shiro, feeling strangely like the cold hands of fate were trailing down his back, “Would MarmoraTech, by any chance, be able to rescue the people who are lost in the in-between world?”

“The in-between world is an adorable name but a horrific misnomer,” said Slav. He tapped his chin. “I so hate to be the bringer of bad news but unfortunately this reality is not one where that happens. And to prove my hypothesis so far I have not been able to think of a mechanical innovation that can or will achieve what you ask.”

 _Not this reality?_ Shiro’s eye twitched. “And by any chance, in this reality are you just using it as an excuse?”

“Yes,” said Slav. “It’s tiring work! I will need ten more years to come remotely close and that doesn’t account for any of the seventeen failures that have to come prior.”

Yeah, this guy was probably insane. As long as he did good science Shiro supposed there was only one way to stop his blood pressure from rupturing a capillary somewhere.

“Well, it’s kind of a personal request… but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come here without an ulterior motive—”

“We know,” said Ulaz. He glanced at Kolivan. “Or rather, I can guess. This is about Kogane, right? Pilot red?”

Shiro nodded. “I’m not _only_ concerned about him, you understand, but.” He gave a helpless little shrug. “Like I said, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t partially about him.”

At that, Antok let out a deep thunderous sigh that made Shiro and Allura jump. Again. Not in the least surprised Kolivan muttered, “Alright, I get it.” Then to Shiro and Allura Kolivan said, “We’ll discuss. But I must make sure that the actions of one reckless renegade —” Ulaz was the perfect image of innocence, “Doesn’t harm the rest of us.”

“Kolivan, you and I both know Sendak ripped off our teleporter prototype and took it with him to Teludav Inc. So this is just, like, … payback.”

“And we need to be careful and give Thrace enough time to extract the confidential files before word of the acquisition gets out and spooks them into purging their logs.”

Shiro said, “One of our pilot contacts is a skilled hacker. We could link you two up. Join forces. I’m sure she — _he’d_ be more than willing to assist you.”

Kolivan gave this some thought. Finally he turned and gestured for them to follow him and get the paperwork done. Not bothering with tact any longer, Ulaz flashed them a smirk.

“Have more faith in this reality!” Slav called out as they left, “There is only a 14.79% chance things will get worse.”

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, 23 June 2021, 14:50 PM.

10 minutes before verdict release

Once the door to the conference room cracked open Allura was ready and waiting with an eager chirp of “Gentlemen! How kind of you to finally drop by!”

Sendak paused in the doorway, Haxus and Prorok behind him. Shiro knew what they were seeing — a deliberate nod to their first meeting at Arus & Lions, when they had stumbled into the room only to be outclassed by the people already in it.

She grinned and gestured for them to sit. “Reps for Teludav Inc., meet the reps of MarmoraTech. Quite the muscle, aren’t they.”

Shiro couldn’t help a shitty grin of his own too as the representatives of MamoraTech stood to shake hands with none of the tact a usual meeting would require. The atmosphere in the room was tense enough to spread with a butterknife.

“We’ve met,” said Sendak, his usual drawl conspicuously absent. He glanced at the other waiting lawyer.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” said Lotor with a shrug. “They were here since 1pm.”

“And yet we weren’t informed about this?”

Lotor shrugged. “Tea?” He was sprawled back in his seat and nursing a dainty cup of earl grey, legs kicked up on the edge of the table like he was about to watch a blockbuster hit unfold.

Sendak ignored him. Eyes on Allura, he made as if to stride around the table and Antok rose to his feet. One head taller and much wider, Antok only needed to level a dead-eyed stare to halt Sendak in his tracks.

“Be nice, we fight with words and not fists,” said Lotor, gesturing at the table where a neat sheaf of paper waited. “They have a proposition for us, Mr. Sendak. It’s a pretty good one if I do say so myself.”

Shiro leaned forward. “As you say, Lotor. The folk at MarmoraTech have offered to buy over the infrastructure, research and development, and all associated intellectual property of the company.”

Sendak began to leaf through the documents while Haxus and Prorok merely stared, determined not to say a word. But when Sendak came to the most important page he leaned back with a long exhale, visibly insulted.

Allura cleared her throat. “Might I remind you, Mr. Sendak, after the pilot scandal, Teludav Inc. will have to spend far more trying to repair its reputation, another hefty sum to upgrade the teleporters, _and_ a little more as compensation to the affected victims…”

“Which one of you is the financial advisor?” snapped Haxus.

The three MarmoraTech reps exchanged glances, then Antok raised a hand and at the movement Shiro swore he could hear the threads of his blazer fighting to contain him. Haxus’ gaze hardened and Ulaz, slimmest of the three, folded his arms with inexplicable smugness.

“As I was saying,” said Allura pleasantly, “Best to cut your losses now than struggle to rid yourselves of a dying company later.”

Shiro added, “Time’s ticking, we have less than a minute before we should head over to the courtroom and get settled.”

That seemed to jerk the three Teludav reps into motion and a quiet exchange. Lotor slowly set down his tea and watched, only occasionally piping up with a hushed whisper or word of caution.

And surprisingly, it was also Lotor who tapped a finger on his wrist one and a half minutes later.

“Well,” said Allura, pleased with how this was going, “I’m afraid the offer is no longer valid, we have to head to court now.”

Prorok made as if to stand and pursue the matter, but Lotor raised a hand to stop him. Shiro would’ve done the same — any more and it’d be desperation, and signs like these were signs of weaknesses that would make a decently large number shrink far too much.

Still, as Shiro followed the three MarmoraTech reps to Courtroom 5B there was no doubt that Teludav Inc. had long squandered all their luck. Teludav Inc. had bet on a piece that vanished into the ether, and they hadn’t foreseen that there’d be others ready to take up his fight after he fell.

_There were indeed other Teludavs and other pilots waiting to fly them._

 

-

 

Tellus District Court, Tellus Central District. Tuesday, 23 June 2021, 15:00 PM.

Verdict release

Members of the jury were exhausted. Thinking too much about a single case tended to do that to you. Shiro knew the look in their eyes only too well.

Unlike most criminal cases deliberation for _Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc. _ had taken months. It was a complicated case after all. Were companies immediately protected by their company’s Conditions, even if an unpredicted harm had befallen the people under their charge? Where then, did the company’s rights end for the consumer’s to begin? And if these answers satisfied nobody, was it finally time to change status quo?

Shiro kept his eyes on the judge, who took his seat with a storm in his expression. Beside him Allura stared grimly ahead and it took years of familiarity to recognise how nervous she was. Opposite, sprawled in his chair with the same casual nonchalance that he’d entered with, Lotor was pointedly saying nothing to Sendak. The three Teludav Inc. reps seemed unusually high-strung as well.

It was safe to say nobody knew which way the case would swing.

“Today,” said Zarkon, “Marks the end of Transport Law’s second benchmark case. I am sure everyone present knows the stakes at hand. There is no need for further dramatization.

“The press,” and here he paused to level a vicious look at every camera one by one, “Has displayed shameful conduct for the duration of the case. This is a legal battle for the rights of a company and its victims, not a story to be spun out of proportion for the sake of petty things like views and ratings. I will remind the press to watch its conduct after the jury has announced its decision.”

Shiro worked down a dry knot. These proceedings were the most painful out of any court case. Mainly because he’d seen enough to know the press would still persist in its houndlike ways, so pilots and victims alike would be at the receiving end of the pitch black stares from unblinking cameras for months yet.

“Let me outline what the verdicts will mean. Should the jury find the defendant _not_ guilty, Teludav Inc. will continue its operations, business as usual.

“Should the jury find the defendant guilty, however, Teludav Inc. will be expected to be accountable for the hundreds, if not thousands, of persons who have gone missing. As the judge, I will be reviewing the severity of the charges and decide the extent of consequences to mete out. Of course, prosecution is welcome to file a motion to challenge my decision in future.”

Zarkon cast pale, lifeless eyes across the crowd as he said, “Madam foreperson, has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The pressure was more than enough to crumple him into a little ball. Instead he clung to every meaningless syllable as it was uttered, trying not to hope against all hope—

“We have, your honour.”

“Well, what say you?”

The chief juror stood. “In the matters of Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc., on the charges of infraction of its Conditions of Carriage and a failure to assume an adequate duty of care, we find the defendant… guilty.”

A muted gasp shook the courtroom.

_The pieces were falling into place._

“On the charges of willful neglect of its passengers, we find the defendant guilty.”

Shiro forced himself to breathe. Allura’s eyes were damp.

“On the charges of willful neglect of pilots and staff, we find the defendant guilty.”

Sendak let out a displeased growl.

“On the charges of purposeful obscuring of the truth despite repeated lapses in safety, we find the defendant guilty.”

If Shiro turned around he’d see the families of victims clutching at each other in triumph, some of them even weeping openly in the sheer relief and validation that their traumas were finally heard. And he wouldn’t have missed Sendak and Kolivan exchanging glances in the silent acknowledgement of a future meeting to come, nor the sight of Lotor breaking into a smirk just as Zarkon’s expression clouded over with distaste.

Thankfully as Zarkon read out the terms of the consequences — only a couple million dollars’ fine and the rehaul of all non-operational Teludavs — Allura was calling out over the rising furor that they would be pursuing heavier punitive damages.

But he was running before he was fully aware of what he was doing, threading through the crowd to find Ulaz who startled as Shiro blurted, abruptly, “If MarmoraTech does become responsible for Teludav upgrading, can you by any chance postpone the upgrades for two of the Teludavs?”

Ulaz sighed — Shiro could already guess what the answer was going to be — and gave him a look that was more pity than empathy. “You okay, buddy?”

Shiro tried a smile, but it pulled and weighed on him wrong. “When all this is over, I’ll find time to feel okay. For now, please help me. I just need a pair of Teludavs to be kept functional round the clock, and I’ll even pay to keep them running if you want. Please, just, just in case…”

_Just in case Keith decides it’s time to come home._

“Even a single Teludav will eat a lawyer’s wallet for breakfast and come back for seconds,” said Ulaz, lip quirked. “But I will do all I can.”

“Thank you,” said Shiro.

“Keith’s really fortunate you’re fighting so hard, you know. Are you and Allura really going to keep fighting Teludav Inc.? The rabbit hole goes very far down,” Ulaz said with far more meaning than Shiro was equipped to decipher.

“Of course. I’ll keep fighting the people who kept Teludav Inc. alive and I won’t stop until every last one of those lawsuits has seen its end. I’ll fight every last battle,” said Shiro, voice warped and foreign, “As many times as it takes.”

 

-

 

Shirogane Takashi: (15:55) We won.

Shirogane Takashi: (15:57) I know you’re out there saving the world. But they’re going to shut down the Teludavs, and I’m stuck here wondering if I can save you.

Shirogane Takashi: (15:58) Either way, I’m going to keep hoping and believing.

Shirogane Takashi: (15:59) Keith, I’ll see you soon.


	22. Chapter 22

That very night Lotor was waiting for them outside their office the same way he was when they saw him the first time, ankle propped on a knee, long silver hair catching the moonlight. Something foreign and unreadable lurked behind his pale irises.

“Lotor, what a surprise,” said Allura, as they came to a stop and Lotor rose gracefully to his feet.

“Indeed. By the way, I never got the chance to tell you, but it was truly an excellent cross,” Lotor said to both of them. Shiro gleaned from the slight tilt of his head that it was supposed to be genuine but hearing it felt like swallowing a mouthful of grime.

“Thanks,” said Allura. “I must know, counsel, did you intend to throw the case?”

“Why, I would never,” gasped Lotor, the picture of hurt.

“I was expecting a lot more from the person carrying the feud of my father’s archenemy. Your father was—”

“Ha,” said Lotor, lip curled, “You misunderstand. That wizened, iron-headed geezer is not my _father_ by _any_ means.”

Shiro said, “Well, we could use a hand like yours when we take down your _father's_ company.”

Lotor’s smile grew. “You know, another scar would probably add to your rugged charm, Mr. Shirogane. But sure, let’s hear it, what's in it for me?”

“Vengeance, perhaps?” Allura said plainly, not unkindly, “Or simply to honour the four friends you lost to the Teludav.”

This time, Lotor’s slow and unguarded surprise was genuine.

“Friends? … Ha, no, no. They were my best private investigators.” Lotor’s gaze dulled. “Even if one of them believed that punching things into submission was a valid response to _see you in court.”_

Shiro found himself admiring how he seemed to have nothing to hide — or perhaps he was a man that had everything to lose and feared none of the repercussions. Wordlessly, Lotor straightened his tie and checked his cufflinks.

Before _Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc., _ Shiro would’ve been content to let the uncomfortable silence stew so he could watch Lotor squirm. Instead, he asked, “Now what would a lawyer like you need PIs for?”

The lawyer broke into a grin as he strode past them, down the corridor to leave.

“Fine… three hints. One: talk to Rolo and ask where his friend Nyma’s gone. Two: read up on the changes in law passed by Judge Diabazaal. Unfortunately the third hint you can only unlock after you mail me a copy of the summons to high court stating your challenges to said legislations.”

“We have evidence you threatened the pilots. We intend to have you charged for breaking the rules of professional lawyer conduct,” Allura called out after him.

“Oh, don’t waste your efforts. Try again after razing Teludav Inc.’s detestable statutory legacy to naught but ashes.” Lotor waved a hand without looking back. “I wish you best of luck.”

The man vanished round the corner. Shiro and Allura waited for the _beep_ of the elevator doors.

“Was he… _helping_ us?” Shiro asked, dumbfounded.

“I think so. I mean, no way MarmoraTech would’ve been able to secure such a low buyout if he hadn’t held back the Teludav reps the first time,” said Allura, collapsing into the chair Lotor had just vacated. “Even so, this is so much to take in — _ew,_ there really is a lot of cat hair in this.”

 _“Alright,_ I’ll clean it tomorrow, or over the weekend. No need to nag me now.”

 

-

 

So many things had happened in the past few months but Portsdown station had been immune to all of it. Shiro was fortunate that he’d spent most of his childhood here, in a place untouched by the cruel hand of time.

At the very edge of the sprawling Tellus city, Portsdown was one of those districts that looked gorgeous no matter what time or season. Like a scene right out of Teludav Inc.’s own promotional images, Portsdown Station and its Teludav lay soaking up the sun, stainless steel winking cheerfully as birds and clouds floated by overhead.

And in the parking lot beside the station sat Keith’s — Shiro’s — hoverbike, gleaming a proud crimson as if hoping to put the whitewashed building to shame. Shiro had polished it up properly, and with Hunk and Lance’s help over the weekend they’d cleaned every one of its valves to restore it to its former glory (“Why do I have to help clean up pissy Keith’s dumb old hoverbike, the guy never let me touch it once!” “Lance, we’ve been through this, we owe Shiro big time. Now either put your mouth to good use and sing us a song that isn’t _Despacito_ or shut up for five minutes”).

Well, ‘wanting to preserve Keith’s things’ was only partly the reason. The other half of it was that Shiro wanted to ride this hoverbike too, although it wasn’t like he’d gotten addicted. Not yet. Alright, maybe just a little. Look, it was more fun and efficient than taking the train (he could even take the scenic route which, although would need 30 more minutes, passed by a lake where he could feed the ducks) and now that he wasn’t bound up by Teludav schedules, he had time to visit Portsdown station whenever he wanted.

Today, as had come to be the norm, Shiro took out his packed lunch and leaned against the hull of the inactive Teludav to eat. He looked at the sky, and at the graffiti-strewn hull of the Teludav, and at the trees flowering obliviously in the distance, and decided things indeed could’ve ended up worse.

For instance, his sandwich could’ve contained pickles but didn’t.

(The sting of loss and regret had faded into a low thrum that Shiro could only hear in the dead of night when even the earth slept. _Keith Kogane_ was still his favorite color, his good luck charm, the name waiting for him at the bottom of a bottle… though he’d learned that it could equally be the sound that brought a smile to his face even through the tears. He wasn’t coping perfectly, but he was finally _learning_ to cope at least. And now that he’d finally raised his head above the floodwater he’d come to realise how much the case had taken out of him — how Keith’s disappearance had eaten away at him from the inside.)

_(All of this felt uncomfortably like letting go, but Shiro was determined to teach himself that healing and letting go didn’t necessarily mean giving up and losing hope.)_

Today, as had come to be the norm, Shiro talked. Some days he brought his case books and read into the hollow Teludav, other days he paced the platform and tried to iron out any kinks in his court cases (of which there were many, even after the stellar performance of the latest trial), and sometimes, like now, Shiro just aired whatever came to mind.

“Remember that guy I told you about? Well, since he was always going on and on about multiple realities, I finally did my own research,” — yes, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that Slav had really gotten to him — “Turns out, there might be an infinite _you-s_ and an infinite _me-s_ and I’m frankly not comfortable with that. Imagine. There’s a _me_ somewhere out there that likes pickles in his sandwich.”

Shiro snickered into his food.

“So there’s a _Shiro_ out there who’s never found about his shellfish allergy at his softball team’s birthday party, and a _Shiro_ who believes that stepping on cracks will break your mother’s back, and a _Shiro_ who’s living my dream job flying spaceships and being paid to explore the dark side of Kerberos. At least the last one has that going for him.”

A blackbird hopped close, beady eyes staring hungrily at his sandwich. A trill and a flutter of iridescent feathers, later, it made off with a chunk of bread.

“A Shiro that never feeds the birds.”

He watched it disappear into the trees. He dusted the crumbs off his shirt, downed his coffee, and closed his eyes to feel the world that he never knew he had the privilege to feel.

“A Shiro that never received the help of MarmoraTech.”

Ulaz had been true to his word. Eight months after the verdict of _Arus & Lions V Teludav Inc., _ reparation work was well under way for all save the teleporter at Portsdown Station and the one at Central Station from which Shiro usually disembarked. These were the two that Keith usually flew, after all, and if anything there’d be a greater chance that Keith would emerge from one of them.

And of course, because Kolivan had not been informed in advance, Ulaz might’ve gotten into a spot of trouble. (Of course, the chief engineer remained completely unapologetic.)

_Just in case Keith decides it’s time to come home._

“A Shiro that never had the chance to meet you.”

 

The Teludav trembled.

 

Shiro was on his feet instantly, heart pounding, breathless, as he stared at the closed passenger door of the Teludav.

He’d felt that once before, in a time when he wasn’t sure if the world was a dream or a reality.

“Hello?”

The birds had gone silent, and the trees had stilled. The world was as silent as a tomb.

_His watch read 12:26PM._

“Is someone in there?”

Hesitantly, he edged to the door. Nothing.

_Was something breathing down the back of his neck?_

He ran to the pilot’s door and wrenched at the handle. Rust shavings fell like rain as the door clanged down. In the otherworldly darkness, the robotic constellation of buttons and blinking switches beckoned. And an orange indicator winked — passengers were on board.

Thankful that he’d broken the law and lived to tell the tale, Shiro somehow managed to extract from his inner pocket the keycard of pilot RED 0623, and slot it the right way up in the ignition slot. The Teludav rumbled. From outside came another angry _CLANG_ as the passenger door fell open. Shiro _ran._ And inside,

 

 

 

disobeying both time and space

a raven-haired pilot with night skies for eyes

hung suspended in mid-air 

 

 

 

 

 

before crashing to the floor.


	23. Chapter 23

Keith was so light in his arms.

“Keith? Come on, Keith? Wake up!”

The pilot was hardly breathing.

“Keith, please, oh god, what happened to you? Please, _Keith Kogane,_ look at me!”

He was almost just a body, cold, clammy, without the strength to even resist. Half open and glazed over, Keith’s eyes were already gazing into the other world that called out to him from where Shiro couldn’t let him go.

“Keith, baby, _please.”_ Shiro pressed his forehead to Keith’s and breathed into what little air they still shared, “Please stay with me. Don’t leave me again.”

A hand tightened in the hem of Shiro’s shirt.

“T-Ta… Taka… sh…”

Keith’s gaze rolled sightlessly, trying to find him.

Shiro pressed Keith’s palm against his cheek and Keith’s eyes moved blindly to track him. “Keith, I’m here.”

It hurt to see Keith sapped of strength, boneless and weak. But it hurt even more when Keith smiled, like he’d been waiting for this moment even more than Shiro had. The thumb against Shiro’s cheek twitched feebly.

“Sh… Shiro?”

“Come on, buddy.” His voice cracked as he gathered the limp body more securely in his arms. Keith turned his face into the warmth of Shiro’s chest.

There was no time. Keith was delirious. He was fading faster than Shiro could put together a plan and still, for some fucking reason, Keith sounded _happy._ The pilot’s skin was grey and his voice was little more than a ghost on still air, and still Shiro had never heard Keith’s voice so certain. It felt like only a single thread tethered him to the realm of the living.

“I’m going to get you somewhere safe, okay? Just,” Shiro realised he was trembling and the weight in his arms was cold, so unnaturally cold, “Just, I'll bring you somewhere safe, I promise, just — just hang on for me, okay?”

This was nothing Shiro had ever imagined. There was no way to prepare for the moment of seeing Keith, his Keith, draining away in his very grasp.

Focus, Shiro. He had to keep it together for Keith. He’d done it for the past two years and he needed to do it again, one last time, even if this time might be one too many.

Keith was dying and he _would_ unless he received urgent medical care. The nearest hospital was in Tellus Central District, several blocks from Tellus Court. But there was no time. He could take the hoverbike but even breaking every speed limit he’d need an hour at least and the post-lunch traffic was always hellish.

But there was still one more way to get there… and still be on time.

To Shiro’s left, the door to the cockpit loomed, dark with the possibility of success and the memories of trauma and three not-years of hallucinations.

_I’ll fight every last battle, as many times as it takes._

“Stay with me, okay, Keith? … Keith?”

The pilot gave him no answer.

“Keith,” Shiro said, and it sounded strangely like a sob, a plea to all that listened — and the lone syllable echoed.

When it came to Keith, Shiro simply… didn’t have very much of a choice. He never did have. The path might’ve been hard, the road painful, but Keith had only ever led him forward and never looked back.

Shiro knew what he needed to do.

  


He settled Keith in the pilot’s seat and draped his own trench coat around him in a desperate bid to help him retain some of his warmth. Keith didn’t stir. If Shiro didn’t know better Keith might’ve just been asleep with the comfort of some sweet dream, and oh, how Shiro wished he didn’t know better.

Instead he forced back the rising tide of panic and shut the two cockpit doors. Save the glow of buttons Shiro didn’t know how to interpret there was nothing but the heavy darkness of tight, enclosed space. His throat was closing, cold sweat beading across his brow.

_Breathe, Shiro. Even if it’s hard. Breathe, Shiro. Just… breathe._

Piloting a Teludav. How hard could it be? He knew the science behind it, kind of, vaguely enough. He knew that he needed to find a route in the _in-between_ world that would take him from Portsdown Station to Tellus Central Station. And he knew… Well, that was about it. That’s all he knew.

Something made him look to Keith for comfort and he realised, with a swell of relief, that pilots also used that titanium headpiece to navigate. Keith’s was slung around his neck.

The metal band was as cold as Keith. It was thin and slightly too small for Shiro, but he had to make do. So he slipped it around his forehead like he’d seen the pilots do.

And when he opened his eyes, the cockpit was alive with a sea of red, glowing planes and criss-cross pathways of binary and numbers that made no sense and yet somehow seemed to fit together perfectly. He couldn’t shake the feeling of staring forward and backward in time, his eyes straining because there was no conceivable end.

In its ignition slot the keycard of Pilot RED 0623 burned crimson. It called to him.

One last glance at the motionless body in the pilot’s seat before Shiro reached out, grasped the keycard, and turned it.

With an ethereal hum that dulled the song of the hoverbike Shiro had become so intimately familiar with, the Teludav began to stir. Bars filled and lines curled and a path snaked to the edge of the Teludav.

The machine spit out alphabets and it took a while before Shiro realised it was trying to talk to him.

 

_typedef struct _SYNC_CRITICAL_SECTN {_

_PRTL_CRITICAL_SECTION_DEBUG DebugInfo;_

_LONG LockCount;_

_LONG RecursionCount;_

_HANDLE SYNC_0310T1506_02292020_RED0623;_

_HANDLE VariableSemaphore;_

_DSTRUCT DistRoute;_

_} RTL_CRITICAL_SECTN, *PRTL_CRITICAL_SECTN;_

 

_Error Code 424: RESPONSE PING not recognised by HANDLE._

_WARNING, ‘DistRoute’ FOR UNSTABLE SYNC MIGHT CAUSE ALL FILES IN SOFT MEMORY TO BE OVERWRITTEN._

_Proceed with DISTANT ROUTE SETUP (Y/N)? |_

 

Well fuck, Shiro didn’t understand any of this. Guess there was only one thing he could do.

 

 _Proceed with DISTANT ROUTE SETUP (Y/N)?_ **_Y_ **

  


“Shiro?” Keith pulled the covers closer, voice syrupy with sleep. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Keith.” Shiro was immediately running fingers through Keith’s inky hair and trying to feel for the pilot’s temperature.

Keith swatted at him grumpily. “Shiro, what time is — it’s the middle of the night, what are you doing?”

Despite Keith’s nonplussed grunt Shiro couldn’t help hauling Keith close and holding him tightly, feeling how real and present he was as he gasped, “Oh, Keith. I missed you. You got lost inside the Teludav and stayed gone for a year, and I was, I was so worried that you’d never come home, and I—”

“Shh.” Keith pressed a gentle finger against his lips.

“Keith—”

“It’s over now, you don’t need to fight any more. We won those battles, remember? Teludav Inc. is finished,” said Keith. He was smiling, but he sounded so sad. “I’ll bring you your medicine and we’ll book you a therapist’s appointment in the morning—”

“No, there’s… It’s not just a dream,” said Shiro. Something wasn’t sitting right. There was something… missing, and the only thing Shiro knew about it was that he _wanted_ it to disappear, but now that it was gone it felt strange. It felt… odd. Like he hadn’t seen something to its end.

“Mm?”

“I swear, I’m not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be here. I need to take you to…” Shiro was drawing a blank. Keith watched as Shiro curled his fingers in the sheets, straining to remember,

and minutes and hours and seconds and years ticked by

before finally Keith said, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”, his dark eyes glittering as if lit by a scattering of lullaby diamonds, “Everything’s okay now.”

Keith — gorgeous, unhurt, whole, _safe_ — leaned his head against the crook of Shiro’s neck and Shiro didn’t have the heart to refuse Keith’s outstretched palm. Their fingers fit together perfectly.

This was Shiro’s apartment, strewn with red and black clothes, and photographs of the millionfold realities they’d immortalised for eternity, the shadows chased away by dimly glowing lamps that Keith had always said reminded him of the stars.

This…

This was home.

“Yeah,” said Shiro. “Okay.”

“It was a long battle,” said Keith, melting warm and pliant against him, “But we made it. This is our home now, we’re safe, and we made it.”

Eventually the darkness receded for dawn, and in the golden half-light Keith wriggled from his grasp. Shiro struggled to place himself. The alarm clock by the bedside glowed neon green, his least favorite color. On the dresser surrounded by scale replicas of science-fiction teleporters the clock made no sound that might shatter this delicate moment.

The dawn light touched Keith shyly, turning the tips of his hair silken gold. In this warmth, Keith glowed. Like a marble statue in oil he moved in a rhythm that both suited and jarred with what little Shiro knew about Keith. Shiro’s sweatshirt was too big on him and pulled in all the wrong ways, but Keith looked perfect just zipped up tight and ready to face the day.

“I love you,” said Keith, and Shiro let Keith kiss him.

By the time Shiro got dressed, it was already mid-afternoon.

Even though it was quiet, Central Tellus Station looked impossibly magnificent. They were supposed to get some pizza and more coffee from Keith’s favorite coffee joint (though Shiro couldn’t remember the name of it) but there was something, _something_ about the Teludav station that made Shiro’s footsteps slow.

Keith tugged at his hand. “I’m hungry,” he said.

Shiro stared at the cold entrance of Central Tellus Station. A cold draft leaked from it.

“Shiro.” Keith’s brows were knitted with worry. “It’s over, Shiro, please. We shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” said Shiro, “You’re right.”

He let go of Keith’s hand and strode towards Central Station. Keith ran to catch up. “Shiro, come on. Being here isn’t good for you.”

Shiro didn’t slow. He climbed the steps and followed the breath of cold air past the unmanned gantries and empty corridors and down to the platforms below.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be here.”

Half in and out of its tunnel, shrouded with steam and sitting in a pool of translucent blood, a single Teludav waited with passenger door open and innards empty. No, not empty — full of an inky darkness that Shiro couldn’t see into.

Keith’s hand around his wrist tightened hard enough to hurt. Shiro turned to see Keith, jaw tense, eyes hard and angry.

He looked… lost.

“What do you want from me? I gave you everything twice! You wanted to be loved, and I loved you back.”

“You’re not Keith,” said Shiro.

“I am! I’m the pilot you loved!”

He shook his head. This had to be a simulation, right? There was no clock on the central pillar of the platform. Moreover, hadn’t the simulation been programmed to create its user’s deepest desires? This was just his brain tricking itself, right?

“You’re not—”

“I _am_ Keith! I’m Keith Kogane, the pilot who loved you for years!”

Keith’s voice echoed in the empty platform. His outline shifted. His galaxy eyes blurred with moisture. This not-Keith surged to him and locked fists in the collar of Shiro’s shirt, and his hands were marred with tiny squares of color.

“You can’t leave me again, Shiro!”

Shiro cupped Keith’s face softly.

“You’re not him. You’re not the Keith I love,” he said.

The pilot shoved him, the violence angry and familiar (Shiro’s own knowledge echoed back at him?). Shiro stumbled back, away from the Teludav, and Keith growled,

“You vanished for years. I waited and waited, I waited until there was nobody left in this place but me, Shiro! One by one the lights went out and everyone I knew disappeared! And, and…”

This not-Keith sunk to his knees, chest heaving. A sob escaped. Transparent pixels fell from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s just me, for decades — no, _hundreds_ of years. I never chose to be alone, Shiro, I never wanted to be alone, I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t…”_

When he looked up again his hue had changed.

“It’s too quiet.”

The shadows moved.

“Please,” said the Keith who was not Keith, “I swear I loved you. I waited for you and I believed you’d come home and I know this world is full of mistakes and I’ve lost so many people but I _tried,_ and please, Shiro, _please,_ I tried to keep this world alive for you.”

Even if this wasn’t Keith, there was something heartbreaking. Seeing a version of his strong, fearless Keith, rendered to naught but his deepest insecurities. Realising that all this could’ve happened in a split second without Shiro’s even knowing, between when Shiro might’ve said _trust me_ and Keith said, _okay._ How could Shiro have ever understood?

He knelt in front of the stuttering shape that tried to be Keith. The world was dissolving around them.

“In another reality,” he said gently, and the void peeled open to drink up the lilt of his voice and the tenor of his every word, “People gave up their lives for you and the machine you inhabit.”

_Grief._

“As we speak, others are working hard to keep your mind alive in another set of machines. There are some people who hate what happened but there are others that will never give up on what you can give us.”

He straightened and the floor reformed around his feet.

“In that reality, my Keith is waiting for me…" He drew a shaky breath. "But he’s dying.”

_Dying?_

Moved, the cutout of darkness let him pass. And behind them both, suspended in blinking pixels, waited the lone Teludav and its own darkness within.

“I need to save him.”

_Shiro, wait._

Like a sentry the cutout of null took its place beside the passenger door, vaguely four-limbed with two yellow eyes, tinted just the slightest bit crimson.

_We must save the red pilot. I will take you to him._

  


_Inhale._

In the shadow of his world folded over itself, Shiro watched as time stretched forwards and backwards as far as his mind’s eye could see and then further still.

_Exhale._

His mind struggled to comprehend looking at time itself, something that had no shape or form. Instead it existed as the gap where his reality almost-not-quite touched, and where futures rushed past in a neverending stream. One moment he could unravel its logic but not its existence, and another when if he focused on its form he could no longer understand that which made it.

_Inhale._

And from where he stood, everything was frozen.

Plumes of astral dust stretched, rose, fell into infinity. Folded between the clouds and only visible out the corner of his eye, the tiniest pinpricks let in the only light that he could recognise. In here, every other color was the shift of the dimension itself.

This wasn’t just the _in-between_ — it was a world between all other worlds.

The _null_ was moving. Now just a void that blotted out the specks of light, Shiro hurried to keep in its shadow. In here it had become something like the split second totality of an eclipse, a presence born out of the patience only machines and stars knew.

And it seemed to be watching him somehow, studying his every move.

Was this how it was like, piloting a Teludav? Did each of these Teludavs come preloaded with its own shadowy entity? … Shiro suspected that it hadn’t, because on some extreme basal level he knew that there couldn’t possibly have been more than five existing in the same dimension. He was simply not ready to know the locations of the other four.

All he needed to know, really, was the stately march of the shape that swallowed the stars. In the dust that followed its wake, Shiro walked and left tiny footprints of his own. And beyond that opaque dust there lay nothing but space yet to be filled with futures still unimagined. To venture there was to attempt existing without time itself.

And after he became aware of that fact he realised the _null_ was both a destroyer of worlds and a mark of safe passage.

 

_The red pilot was the first to arrive._

It felt like listening to the entire world.

_Those who came after him withered because they did not understand._

The headband clinked around Shiro’s neck, when had he taken it off? Now that he was aware of it the metal band grew heavier. It almost seemed to choke.

 _Just like you,_ said the world,

as Shiro faintly wondered if he was going mad.

_The red pilot ached, but he knew there was no chance to save all who had strayed._

The absence paused, and Shiro’s footsteps slowed. The weight of this truth was so much to bear. The eclipse grew before his field of vision, the stars winking from existence one by one.

_Something changed when without warning, he brought warmth into this place. It was a flame no novae had seen, a heat no black hole could deny._

_His fire was a fire so resplendent that we would never understand._

The gravity upon his shoulders condensed in his arms, and, —

“Keith!” The smoke, the trials, the simulations, it all came crashing down on him at once and Keith was once again languishing in his arms, blackened rings under his dull galaxial eyes, only a phantom breath dusting his pallid lips.

_In the end, he gave himself up to the stars so he might remember the feeling of home._

Shiro’s attention was torn away from Keith and he saw, clearly, a single white star pinned against the dome of the edgeless sky, waiting patiently for him.

(And that, he knew, was where he needed to go.)

_You,_

the null declared,

_feel like the plasma which birthed his fire._

 

With Keith in his arms and a newfound direction of home, Shiro ran. The darkness had cleared away like smoke across a still lake and soon he was joined by thousands upon thousands of dusty footprints tracking immense highways that criss-crossed and twisted on themselves.

If Shiro hadn’t already known how the edge of the path looked like, he’d already have fallen some time ago. He put his feet into the dust and tried not to look anywhere else but straight. It might’ve been miles and miles and hours upon hours, or it might’ve just been no time at all, or every footstep he’d ever take in his life. The trivial laws of his reality had no place here.

In what felt like a time too long ago, Shiro had suspected that each white dot had been the entrance to another reality. He realised now that he’d been right.

“Shiro.”

It was Keith’s voice, but it came from a whole other world away. Even unconscious, Keith’s brows furrowed at the sound as if it were a memory of his own, and Shiro turned to find its source—

“Shiro!”

There, staring into and through the eyes of another machine, stood Keith. He had a violet ten thousand yard stare that Shiro saw in his clients sometimes, a gaze devoid of all hope. It seemed _red_ would be the color Keith brought along with him through the realities he existed in and here, Keith was a warrior, a paladin in armour trimmed with the crimson of love and sacrifice.

And behind him stood three other knights whom Shiro knew the names of but couldn’t quite remember (a flippant but skilled friend, an ingenious play of hidden talent, an unshakable rock of loyalty and trust) —

Was that Keith… calling to him?

Shiro slowed, and the Keith beyond the machine said, almost as though couldn’t quite believe it himself, “He’s gone.”

 _He,_ Keith had said. He — Shiro. _Ah,_ thought Shiro, _perhaps our paths were always meant to cross._

“Not for long,” Shiro said to the Keith visibly breaking into pieces before his eyes, to the empty pilot’s chair, to the rest of the realities that cared to listen, “Shiro will always come back to you.”

His simple truth said, he held his Keith tighter to him and turned away from that heartbreaking reality, because he couldn’t afford to believe in anything else except the meagre chance he’d been given. And even if he didn’t know the rules of anything that happened here, he knew that if there was a Shiro in that world, he would make his way back to Keith — at least that much felt true. It had to be.

They passed by realities that couldn’t exist and realities that did, realities where he and Keith found each other’s tiny hands in playgrounds and others where they had to wait for lifetimes, and others longer still, where and when they were the sun and moon, dancing a slow dance of the ages before they were finally to melt into each other, and be reborn—

The white light of Central Tellus Station beckoned from inside the rim of their world.

Shiro looked down at the sleeping pilot in his arms and said, “Thank you.”

As if hearing this, Keith curled a little tighter against him, and Shiro had to fight hard not to lose himself in the relief which crested like an ocean.

It was no stroke of luck he made it this far. Each one of the footprints he’d followed belonged to a single pair of boots — and Keith’s were caked with milky dust. There was no doubt the pilots and passengers he’d met in here retraced those footprints so they would eventually make it out. Without even knowing, Keith — and his Teludav — had saved Shiro, too.

Shiro took one last look at the astral plane. It was a sight he and Keith were lucky to share even once.

“Come on, Keith… It’s time for us to go home.”


	24. Chapter 24

It was October 13th 2021. The time on the station clock read 00:00 when Shiro stepped out of the Teludav.

He saw them first — light travelled faster than sound, after all — the throng of wide-eyed pilots. Everything moved in slow motion. Their worry erupting to relief and joy, hats and coats strewn into the air with abandon, and then, last but not least, came the sound.

It deafened him. Layers upon layers of cheers split the air and Shiro reeled from the intensity of it.

_You brought him back. It’s Keith — Justice for pilots! — It’s Keith Kogane. And you brought him home._

Shiro couldn’t believe it either.

_You made it. This is Central Station._

_You and Keith — you both made it, and you’re safe now._

 

-

 

The first thing Allura said to him after she’d given him a hug in the waiting room was, “What on earth possessed you to think you would have any chance succeeding at that?”

“Allura, wait, I can explain—”

“You were gone for _weeks!”_

“Ow, Allura, come on—”

She tackled him around the chest and crushed him. Her voice trembled as she murmured only for him to hear, “You had me worried sick. Never do that again.”

And through the darkness that crept up along the edges of his vision Shiro had it in him to remember that this was Allura’s version of a hug no matter how life-threatening it felt, so he just croaked, “I wouldn’t worry. The next time I visit a different dimension I won’t come back.”

“Oh, screw you.”

She pulled back to study him, her bubblegum-hued gaze radiating concern. He gave her a shy, sheepish smile. “Don’t give me that look, I’m still me. Gallows humour and all.”

“No,” she said with a smile of her own, “I haven’t seen you this happy for years.”

Shiro forced a laugh but it came out more genuine than he was ready for, bubbling from someplace deep inside him without end. And it felt good.

“I haven’t _been_ this happy for years.”

So many things were still unfinished, the Teludavs were in the midst of being fully upgraded and some pilots were still due for representation and there were still victims to be compensated,

but Keith was here now, even if the doctors had no idea how he’d survived with a body that starved for food and water and rest. They called him a miracle, the pilot who survived despite the odds, a stroke of impossible luck. And when Shiro asked if there was a higher chance of an alien ship careening out of the sky, the doctors had not disputed it.

Even so, the doctors who were repairing Keith’s broken body behind the closed door to Ward 2A said, _now that he’s in our care, he stands a chance of making it._

‘Standing a chance’ was most certainly doctor talk for, _we’re not sure but we’ll do our utmost best._

That didn’t stop Shiro from smiling anyway, because just hours ago he’d grappled with the very notion of improbable and somehow,

 _Somehow,_ Keith always made it work.

And chances where Keith were involved — those were chances Shiro would readily take.

 

-

 

Six hours later he was awoken by a doctor in a crumpled white coat and a weary smile. “Shirogane Takashi, right?”

He came awake in an instant and then was on his feet and unsuccessfully holding himself back from crowding into the doctor’s personal space. The doctor, probably used to seeing this over and over, didn’t even flinch. Beside his empty chair and still fast asleep, Allura’s head lolled against the wall.

“Yes, yes, no wait, is Keith—”

Shiro’s voice trailed away. The doctor laughed, then nodded. “Your _friend,”_ she said, the word laden with too much to be completely innocent, “desperately wants to see you now.”

Fighting back chills, Shiro followed the doctor to the ward and gently slid the door open, then left him standing in the doorway hardly daring to move.

His chest ached. His _heart_ ached. Any moment and the sight would fall away and be replaced by the cold fluorescence of Central Station. Any moment and Keith might simply disappear from his grasp again —

Lying in bed, raven hair washed and tidied, iridescent nebulae shining in his eyes, Keith smiled a smile that defied the universe itself.

It warmed a deep part of Shiro that had been, for years upon years, so cold that it hurt.

“Good to have you back,” breathed Shiro.

“Good to be back,” croaked Keith in reply. His gaze softened.

Shiro didn’t realise how gaunt Keith looked upon seeing him at first. Some of the shock and adrenaline must’ve blunted the realisation — but now that he’d seen one pilot after another, each trimmed fit and sturdy for the trek across the neverlands he was so acutely aware how Keith was now a shadow of what he used to be. Keith was pale like bone and barely heavier than that, and the oxygen mask affixed to his face looked like it might actually crush him. It almost seemed like he was intruding into a sight nobody else should see.

It would take time to heal, but Keith was back in this reality now, and he had all the time this world could offer.

He sat down (collapsed) into the chair at Keith’s bedside, and Keith huffed out a laugh. It was too faint for Shiro to hear but he saw it nonetheless, the way Keith’s shoulders moved and the moisture fogging up the inside of the oxygen mask.

“Keith,” said Shiro, because even though he was a lawyer and his living was made off words even the most elementary ones were failing him now.

Visibly expending more effort than he could afford, Keith reached out for the hand resting on the bed frame and pressed it to his cheek. With a half-laugh, half-sob, Shiro obliged him and Keith leaned his weight into Shiro’s palm. And they just stayed like that a long while, wordlessly content in each other’s simplicity, soaking up the presence of each other as time ticked by at one second per second.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back,” Keith said eventually, voice faint. “I promise I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“It wasn’t that long,” said Shiro, an echo of the words he’d struggled to say to Keith once, when the Teludav broke for the first time — but he meant every bit of it now. It had never been Keith’s fault.

“He says that but he literally undid the laws of this world in the meanwhile,” called a voice from the doorway. Keith’s eyes creased in a weak smile. Allura was standing there, head tilted and smiling fondly.

Shiro flushed bright and quipped, “And you managed to rebuild your father’s legacy, I don’t see your point.”

Allura gave Keith a look, _Can you believe this guy?_ but thankfully only said, “I’ll go speak to the doctors. You two have fun.”

The door shut again, and something unreadable passed across Keith’s face. “I owe you so much,” he said immediately, and it sounded like it’d haunted him for eons, “More than you know.”

“You don’t.” Shiro brushed a strand of hair out of Keith’s eyes. “I promise, Keith, you don’t.”

Keith snorted through his nose. “Did you win?”

Shiro blinked. “Win what?”

“The case.”

 _The_ case? Arus  & Lions had seen the victorious end of too many cases to count, each more heartbreaking than the last. Keith had been away from all of it, but Shiro had made sure that Arus & Lions became Keith’s legacy as much as his own, Keith’s legacy as much as Allura’s or her father’s.

 _Which case?_ There were so many tales of tired glory and bitter triumph he wanted to tell Keith when the time finally came.

“If you’re talking about the case with Shay Balmera, no, we didn’t win. But we won the war in the end.” Shiro ran a gentle thumb across Keith’s cheek. “Even with the conditions of carriage, Teludav Inc. didn’t stand a chance.”

Keith’s frame went limp with relief and Shiro nearly bolted up to call a doctor, but Keith simply shook his head and asked, “Did you want to give up?”

“Sometimes,” admitted Shiro, although it still stung a little to say it. “Then I remembered I was fighting for you, and you helped me to carry on.”

That sounded like a confession. It certainly felt like it. Heat rose to his cheeks again and there was no doubt his ears were going red. But it was true. Keith was probably the only thing that kept Shiro sane, even if he existed as an off-chance that might never come true. Keith had saved him, in more ways than one.

“I carried you too.”

More moisture fogged the inside of Keith’s oxygen mask. His hand moved, trailing wires across his feebly moving chest.

“In here.”

Those slender fingers brushed across his heart.

Cryptic in all those almost-forgotten, familiar ways, Keith still was as opaque as glass. A wet laugh escaped and Shiro pressed his forehead against Keith’s, finally understanding why it felt like he’d given up everything he had.

All that he’d suffered, endured and lost? — it’d simply been the price for safe carriage.

“I missed you,” Shiro said.

And Keith — this _Keith, a Keith whom he’d loved, the Keith he’d never lost, and the Keith who loved him back_ — replied, “I missed you too.”


	25. Epilogue

_Lionheart Inc. primarily provides legal representation and assistance in the search for persons still lost in exotic space. The firm aims to keep Transportation a business that is transparent, accountable, and responsible for mistakes both past and present. Beyond the transporter and the courtroom, Lionheart Inc. has aided over a thousand clients and linked even more to an expanding network of counselling services._

_Founded in January 2022, Lionheart Inc. was the result of a joint venture between well-established law firm Arus & Lions, as well as transporter operator MarmoraTech. _

_Currently, the firm is managed by attorney Allura Altea, former chair of Arus & Lions. The other former partner of Arus & Lions, Shirogane Takashi, currently acts as first contact as well as for providing litigation support. Last but certainly not least, former ace Garrison pilot Keith Kogane organises and leads a team of dedicated and trained pilots for complex operations into exotic space. _

_And above all, hope and bravery guide the decisions of Lionheart Inc._

\- Lionheart Inc., 2022

 

-

 

Slinging his knapsack onto the wicker chair outside (he’d have to clean it of cat hair later) Keith ran past their office, past the beanbags still indented with the shape of _them,_ the empty mugs stained with overnight coffee and the clock that read 08:12.

Shiro pulled back from the balcony railing with another mug of coffee in hand. This time of year the 8AM sunlight was almost like honey as it dripped off Shiro’s silhouette. His pale grey eyes reminded Keith of astral dust, deep in ways Keith didn’t understand, filled with things Keith couldn’t possibly know the shape of.

Keith had thought the _in-between_ looked beautiful but Shiro put it all to shame.

“You’re late.”

Yes, Shiro put it all to shame even if he was pouting.

“Am not.” Keith stuck out his tongue. “I made it just on time.”

With the gentlest of hands, Shiro helped him out of his coat. Keith no longer wore the bright, shameless orange of the MarmoraTech pilots — he was on the rescue team now, and their suits were the color of a galaxy’s shadow, accented by angled lines of comet blue and nova purple that Shiro insisted was chosen to bring out the color of Keith’s eyes. Which was untrue, because Keith had been on the team that decided that blue, violet, and indigo wavelengths would experience the least distortion in exotic space to locate each other more clearly. Shiro obviously had no idea what he was talking about.

Keith didn’t much care for the fame. He just wanted to do his job. Though it was quite impossible when galaxy black stood out that much from orange. Gone were his peaceful days, but at least now he had these quiet mornings on the balcony of _Lionheart Inc._ to make up for it.

Things at work had finally begun to calm down some — with a weird spindly man called Slav at the helm, the Teludavs and pilots’ headgear were eventually completely upgraded and subject to aggressive maintenance and testing. Hunk gathered the courage to be the overall in-charge for that department, and insufferable Lancey Lance made himself somewhat useful (at last) by being MarmoraTech’s favorite guinea pig.

There were still hundreds of missing victims, some not even on the official roster for missing persons. Keith’s team — which also included a scarily genius scientist Katie who worked tirelessly to find her father and brother — was getting to them one by one, slow and steady.

Shiro and Allura were also working around the clock, linking victims up with Shay and other counsellors. Allura herself was busy overseeing a new team of litigators who were in charge of casework for the victims, and Shiro, well,

Shiro would simply remain a workaholic no matter what he did.

Apparently Lotor had given them a lead which unearthed a plot straight out of a movie. Initially, Teludav Inc. and MarmoraTech had embarked on a joint development of transporter technology. However the primary funder of the research, Zarkon, had urged Sendak to steal a MarmoraTech prototype quintessential for the development of the transporters and then defected to _Teludav Inc._

Of course, without some proper engineers and researchers on board, the disappearances — just as Keith suspected — begun shortly after Keith joined as pilot, and the damage got so much worse that hiring Samuel and Matt didn’t help at all. Lotor was the first to suspect the joint venture had gone wrong, but the litigator lost four of his private investigators and _then_ got blackmailed into working for the transport giant.

In bitter revenge and much to Shiro’s chagrin, Lotor continued to feed Shiro more of his backhanded compliments and more hints for his future cases. In fact, he wasn’t the only lawyer who worked for _Teludav Inc._ — Zarkon and his cronies, some fat bloke called Taujeer, and a scattering of lawyers and even high ranking policemen were all in on this secret. Lotor even directed Rolo to help with the cases, which the lawyer did in the hopes that Keith would also rescue his lost friend, Nyma.

As for Keith, well, Keith was happy to leave _all_ of the lawyering to Shiro and put it all on hold.

For now, Keith just accepted his mug (which read _PILOTS: Walking is for losers)_ and sipped at his favorite brand of orange juice (Shiro called him a heretic for enjoying the version without pulp but he was a simple man, okay) and took his place beside Shiro (best place in all the worlds).

“Did you water the lily?” Keith asked.

Shiro replied. “Yes.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Mnrgh,” said Shiro, which meant _no_ and Shiro was guilty about it, so that was a plus at least.

“Then drink your two glasses of water.”

“Alright, _mom,_ I will.” Shiro rolled his eyes.

Keith leaned against him. “Can’t you just call me _husband?”_

“Not when you’re nagging me, baby.”

Shiro dropped a kiss onto Keith’s hair, and Keith grumbled but let him. This was Keith’s favorite time of day, when Shiro was preparing for bed and when Keith tried (and failed) to not be late for work.

The brief moments when their lives intersected always shone so very brightly. And _yes,_ even if Shiro was wearing his favorite space-themed PJs and ready to go to bed. Even if ‘bed’ referred to the beanbags in the den of the _Lionheart Inc._ office.

By now this was Keith’s second home too. Third if you counted the cubicle at the _MarmoraTech_ HQ in Tellus Central Station. Although Keith had moved into Shiro’s apartment a while back they still made it a point to meet on this balcony, every day, without fail. He’d been delighted to hear that Shiro had kept his hoverbike and his favorite red jacket, and he was eager to catch up on all the music he’d missed for the year he’d been gone.

“You know,” said Shiro suddenly, voice so soft Keith almost missed its slight tremble, “I kinda wish I was going in there with you.”

Keith snorted. “No you don’t. Your heart belongs here. Amongst _people._ Even if you worked in the International Space Station with the world’s most amazing technology. You’d still end up caring more about the people. You’d be so miserable and regret-y.”

Shiro huffed.

Keith went on, “See, this is why I insisted that rescue operations should always be done alone. People complicate things.”

“Look, all I wanted to say was that I worry about losing you again,” said Shiro sourly.

“You won’t,” said Keith.

“No offense, Keith, but you’re _tiny_ compared to the wild animal in the in-between world.” Shiro held out his fingers to illustrate, eyes squinting. “Tiny!”

Shiro was trying to play it off as a joke but his worry was palpable from here, more obvious than the north star. Shiro was never good with relinquishing control, and it showed — whenever it was Keith’s turn to buy takeout Shiro would send him a longass message with special orders bolded, it was Shiro who always aggressively spring-cleaned the house. He always hesitated when he said goodbye to Keith in the morning and released it all a tide of pent-up distress and anguish when Keith came home.

Not that Keith could blame him. Shiro had lost Keith twice, after all — and Keith knew only too well how it felt to believe his reality would crumble to pieces even in his own hands.

They both knew it was no way to live, but at least Keith was here making sure Shiro relearned how to take things slow, one minute at a time. And hopefully, Shiro would be able to let go of the past when the time came.

“I saw it all, you know.”

Keith stared out at the sprawling city beneath them, and felt Shiro’s gaze tickle the back of his neck.

“I never told you before, but I saw… I saw the past, I think. Everything that’d happened in this reality. How happy you were. How sad you were. How good we looked together, and all the realities where I… where I was, I don’t know, assigned a different shift or, where I was a good boy in the Garrison and never became a pilot. Where I never put off quitting my job.”

 _The realities where we never met._ He didn’t even dare to think about those, where they’d passed each other by on a busy sidewalk somewhere and each had been so engrossed deeply in his own bubble that they’d never even given each other a second glance.

“I know,” said Shiro. His voice had taken on that lustre it did when his own nostalgia threatened to drown him, “I saw glimpses too. You and I, together, here, … I think we’re really lucky.”

With a laugh that felt like loss, Keith turned to Shiro and said,

“I don’t think so.”

He had seen another reality, one that grieved him most of all — one where he’d lost the privilege to clasp Shiro’s right hand gently in his own, like he was doing now. Where the stars he loved consumed Shiro’s naivete and spat him out callused and numb. Where Keith had been forced to grow in Shiro’s absence, nothing like how things had played out here.

Without Shiro? … Keith didn’t know if he’d manage.

“In the time I was in there, I had the chance to see… us. Even if it was hard, you know? And no matter what, we always fought to make _‘us’_ work out somehow.”

Shiro’s eyes widened, like it was some groundbreaking truth. To him it might be, but to Keith, it wasn’t. This was simply what Keith had seen, and what he’d learned — no, what he’d been forced to learn.

“Seeing all our pasts and futures must be a curse.”

Shiro said it with real pity in his voice, because now they both understood what it meant to lose or gain time like that, and then be rudely tossed back into their pond after they’d seen the entirety of the sea.

Then again, seeing the world in its various entireties always had such an interesting way of condensing the things that mattered, rendering complex issues into their barest minimums.

Once he’d classified Shiro as one of those things too — something incomprehensible and far out of his league. But now he was here letting Keith kiss the corner of his chapped lips and slipping his arms around Keith’s waist to hold him like the greatest treasure in the universe.

After all, it was right here on this balcony as Shiro watched the city come alive with gold fit for kings, that Keith got down on one knee and gave himself over to the one man that would keep him tethered, for as long as he lived, to the only world that mattered.

“Not a curse,” Keith replied, “I quite like this reality.”

 

\- end. -


End file.
